


Never Got No Good Doing What I’m Told

by carpemermaid



Series: You'll Find Me Where the Devil Don't Go [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Antagonism, Auror Harry Potter, Auror brutality, Bad Decisions, Banter, Bickering, Breaking Protocols, Case Fic, Community: hd_erised, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco has ulterior motives, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Forced Use of Veritaserum, Hopeful Ending, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Ministry of Magic, Minor Original Character(s), Mistakes, Misunderstandings, Non-sexual dub-con, Pining, Post-War, Potions, Potions Analyst Draco Malfoy, Romance, Self Righteous Harry, Semi-Public Sex, Stalking, Switching, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Veritaserum, and it goes to his head a bit when he gets stuck on a suspect, self-sabotage, trigger warning, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8586730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/pseuds/carpemermaid
Summary: Draco works as a consultant for the Auror Department, much to Harry’s continued consternation. The idea that Malfoy’s got an ulterior motive and hiding something rankles Harry enough to follow him home, discovering that Draco lives a decidedly Muggle lifestyle. Harry, sure that he’s Up To Something™, stalks Draco all over Muggle London. Draco, all too aware of Harry’s latest obsession with him, decides to take him on an adventure.Meanwhile, they both need to work together in a race against the clock to get a deadly illegal potion off the streets of wizarding London. Draco has ulterior motives when it comes to the case at hand, and Harry’s suspicions get the best of him when the pressure is on to arrest a suspect.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/gifts).



> Title comes from the Elle King song _Where the Devil Don’t Go_. Oceaxe, I was so excited to create something for you, and I adored your prompts! This story just grew and grew. I hope you enjoy! Also, I know the holidays are a busy season for most people, so please feel free to take your time! :) Giant thanks go out to _Melodic_ and Maccadole for alpha and beta reading this for me. Both of you were excellent cheerleaders along the way, and your help was much appreciated to whip this into an actual story from my crazy person notes. Thank you both so much for your hard work, and for going above and beyond the call of duty. I also want to thank the mods for running this amazing fest, and being patient with me when I needed a bit more time!
> 
>  *****DISCLAIMER/TRIGGER WARNING***:** **Some of Harry’s actions in this story may be triggering to some as abusive behavior.**
> 
> Now that hd_erised is over, I wanted to add this disclaimer to this fic for those that are AO3 readers who aren't familiar with how exchange fests work — please remember that hd_erised is a gift exchange fest, so this fic was written as a gift for oceaxe for her prompts and tastes. This fic is specifically tailored to the following requests: _Harry just can’t let go of the idea that Draco is hiding something or plotting something by living as a Muggle. He stalks him around London. Draco is playing along, he knows why Harry’s following him - he’s bored after the war and needs entertainment. So Draco gives him an adventure._ combined with the prompt of _working together_ and _realistic flaws and terrible mistakes_.
> 
> Therefore, this fic is not for everyone. This fic does not shy away from the antagonism between them. Harry makes some terrible mistakes in this fic, and Draco has some rather gray motives and methods of executing them. While this fic has humor in it in the first half, it gets more serious by the end. Please heed the angst warning, this is an intense fic.

Draco wrapped his thick scarf tighter against the blustery autumn wind. It was an unseasonably cold day for mid-September. The commute from his townhouse in Chelsea had seemed like a good idea that morning. He always walked the last few blocks to the Ministry. He glanced around, debating if he could chance a discreet Warming Charm without being spotted by the Muggles surrounding him on the busy streets of London. He was almost late for work as it was, but the cold was seeping into his woollen coat and his favourite boutique teashop was just ahead. As he drew near, the heady aroma of freshly brewing tea and cinnamon pastries wafted onto the street. Draco needed a decent tea, not that swill served at the Ministry canteen, to get him through a morning briefing. Another chilly breeze blew Draco’s fringe up and solidified his resolve. Dodging a Muggle in a cheap business suit, he entered the shop. He queued up with the other Muggles waiting for overpriced, upscale tea.

 _If Father could see me now_ , he thought as he smiled politely to the young girl that handed over his order. _Always rubbing my elbows with Muggles. They do make damn good tea._

The French Ministry was to blame for his discovery that Muggles weren’t anything like the horrible stories his father used to tell him. He had studied for his Potions Mastery in France before the Ministère de la Magie took him on as a consultant. His position in France had aided in his transfer to the British Ministry of Magic. The French Ministry worked more closely in relation with their Muggle government counterparts, exposing Draco to Muggle culture. Draco had found he didn’t really hate them; they were more than a little intriguing. If Lucius was anything more than a husk of a man he would have surely berated Draco for going soft.

Draco shook the thought of his father from his head as he entered the Ministry. It didn’t do to dwell on those who had been Kissed. The only thing that mattered was Lucius’ last wish — that Draco uphold the Malfoy name. Draco had only avoided a sentence himself under the stipulation that he would become a productive member of society. And Draco had done both of those things. He believed he’d done them _beautifully_. It was only six years later, and he’d made something of himself that people didn’t immediately scorn when they saw his name. He enjoyed his work as a consultant for the DMLE well enough, the majority of his colleagues notwithstanding. He was able to work analyzing potions, and solve the puzzles and mysteries tied to them. It suited Draco well enough.

Draco entered the crowded briefing room that was at the heart of the DMLE and sank down into a seat next to Pansy. He silently offered her the second pastry from his bag. She accepted it and stole a sip of his cooling tea. Pansy worked as a profiler for the department, which she was surprisingly good at.

“You’re lucky Robards hasn’t walked in yet, or he’d have your hide for tardiness,” Pansy murmured as she brushed her fingers free of the flaky pastry crumbs. Draco opened his mouth to answer her, but was cut off by the Head Auror coming in and starting straight away.

“Right,” Head Auror Robards barked as he launched into the briefing, “We’ve got four new ones today, and three pending. Savage, I’ll need your team’s report when we’re finished here.”

Robards gestured to the Assistant Head Auror, who distributed the new cases with an efficient flick of his wand. Draco skimmed the file that slid in front of him. He quickly picked out the key details — potions case, multiple fatalities and threats to the Statute of Secrecy.

“Potter and Longbottom, your team is taking the Exaltation Elixir. You can have Parkinson, Malfoy, and Leeds,” Robards continued to command the attention of the room. He could feel Potter’s eyes boring into the side of his skull like a lead weight. He refused to give into the urge to look over at him. Draco mentally rolled his eyes at the way Potter grunted like an animal in confirmation of the order. Robards’ voice droned on, dividing the other new cases between the other Auror investigative teams. Draco could hear Potter grinding his teeth together from across the room, even over the Head Auror’s voice.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been assigned to work on Potter’s team. The experience hadn’t improved much over the last six months, though. Potter was difficult to work with when he was in a mood, which seemed like always when he was around Draco. Potter ran hot and cold. Draco never knew what he was going get — the righteous Auror and war hero who made it his life’s mission to right the world from wrongdoings, or the kind man he sometimes caught a glimpse of when Potter talked to case victims.

Lately it seemed that Potter was always burning hot, with angry eyes only for Draco. He was aware that when he had first started at the DMLE, Potter had gone to Robards to see about getting Draco transferred somewhere else.

Draco could always feel the heavy press of Potter’s eyes on him when he was at the DMLE offices; he felt them on the back of his neck as he left for home each night. Nosy bastard.

“Dismissed. May you all serve justice today,” Robards’ sharp voice brought Draco out of his thoughts. Pansy elbowed him discreetly as he rose with the rest of the crowd.

“Would it kill you to pay attention?” Pansy asked shrewdly. Draco shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Everything I need to know is right here, until we can find out more about the potion and the rest of the case details,” Draco said. Pansy huffed and looped her arm through his as they strode down the hall, rounding the corner that led to Potter and Longbottom’s shared office.

The office was a spacious corner one, of course, with _two_ charmed Weather Windows. Nothing less than the best was acceptable for two of the Ministry’s decorated war heroes. There was even enough room for a leather Winchester sofa that was in relatively good condition. The first time Draco had seen the office he’d made sure to _accidentally_ knock over a framed portrait of a couple dancing from Potter’s side of the room, just to be contrary. Perhaps that was what had really set his sights for Draco’s blood, but the angry sound Potter had made while casting _Reparo_ made it worthwhile.

Pansy pulled Draco over to the sofa, where they both spread out, while Potter, Longbottom, and Leeds leaned against the two desks. Draco leaned forward and spread the case notes on the low coffee table in front of him, absentmindedly summoning a quill from Potter’s desk. Potter cleared his throat pointedly, but Longbottom was the one to speak up and start their initial meeting.

“Leeds, can you get the known victims on the board, please?” Longbottom asked. Leeds, a short man in his thirties with sandy grey hair and a penchant for threadbare waistcoats, jumped forward to the large board in the corner of the room. “So far we have six cases of overdoses and potion-related fatalities on record. The Minister himself has been made aware of this case because of the way it can threaten the Statute. Draco?”

Draco sat up from the notes he was making and waved his wand at the board to add his knowledge.

“The Exaltation Elixir. It’s a Cheering Charm wrapped up in an addictive potion stronger than Dreamless Sleep. It makes the user feel like they’ve got Felix Felicis running through them, and that they’ll never be unhappy again,” Draco said in a clipped tone. “When I first heard of it, they were originally developing it to combat the mass of victims of Dementor attacks. The developers wanted to help reverse the effects of their happiness being drained.”

“Where did it go from development?” Leeds asked.

“Well, last I heard of it, some up and comings were trying to use it with initial hopes of reducing the severity of the effects of the Dementor’s Kiss,” he answered. “When it hit the streets, users used it to combat their PTSD and became addicted.”

Draco shot a sideways glance at Potter to gauge how he took the PTSD comment. The Muggle disorder had intrigued him when one of his Muggle friends in France asked where he had served. Draco had been confused at first, until his friend said Draco had textbook post-traumatic stress disorder. Draco spent an entire month reading the history of the mental condition.

“So the ideal users are those who are suffering, and Dreamless Sleep and Cheering Charms aren’t doing it for them to keep the nightmares at bay? Oh my,” Pansy commented. She was filing her nails instead of taking case notes. Potter shot her a stern look to which she answered with an equally stern, silent communication and put her high-heeled feet up on the table, legs crossed at the ankles. When Draco returned from France to the Ministry of Magic he’d found that Potter requested Pansy for his cases more often than not; they’d grown a strange working rapport over the years. “That’s quite a pool of ideal customers to deal to, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Quite a lot of social classes, too,” Potter rumbled. He leaned against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, his shirt pulled taut over his broad shoulders.

“You’re not about to imply that someone from the Ministry could be buying, are you?” Draco said in a false-shocked tone. Potter shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

“The Ministry isn’t always black and white, even now.” Potter stared Draco down until Draco glanced away. He assumed that Potter was unsubtly hinting at Draco’s employment there. “What else do we know about the potion?”

“The euphoric high causes the user to feel so invincible that they do ridiculously stupid and dangerous things, which must be why the Ministry is so up in arms about the safety of the Statute. It looks to be on the verge of becoming a widespread problem in the wizarding community,” Draco said. He skimmed through the notes on the initial Blood Reading spells from St Mungo’s. “Looks like there are variations, which could be why it’s been flying under our radar. I’ll need to study these medical reports more, and compare them to the original makeup of the potion.”

“Alright. Malfoy, report back when you have something for us. Leeds and Pansy, you take the case victims. See if you can work up a reverse profile to find more about who our key dealers might be. Harry and I will be going over the crime scene reports today,” Longbottom ordered.

Draco gathered his notes, and tucked the quill he’d nicked from Potter behind his ear with a knowing smirk at Potter’s frown. He hoped it was Potter’s favourite quill.

“I’m going to go to the Paul for a tartlet. Would you like anything, Pans?” Draco asked. Potter glanced between them with a confused expression.

“Isn’t that place Muggle?” Potter asked suspiciously.

“Yes, Potter. Well spotted. I can see why they gave you that shiny Auror badge. It would seem it wasn’t just for your looks,” Draco shot back with a sharp, goading grin. Potter narrowed his eyes, turning back to their case board.

“Bring me something with sinful amounts of chocolate,” Pansy called as Draco exited.

*******

At first Harry was surprised to find Malfoy working in the DMLE. No one had told him Malfoy would be transferring in, one day he had just been in the briefing room analyzing potions in an ongoing case. Harry had avoided requesting him for his investigations, preferring to stick to the analyst he usually ended up with. But then Robards had assigned Malfoy on a particularly tricky case.

Harry was prepared to let the past go, as his superiors had reminded him to do several times when he had complained about Malfoy’s position before, but then the bastard had gone and _purposefully_ knocked over and broken a framed picture of his parents. Harry had seen red. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to throttle the slimy little shit right there in his and Neville’s office. After the Incident, as Harry referred to it in his mind, he had gone straight to Kingsley to use his seldom-used name to throw around his considerable political weight. It still made him uncomfortable, but he had been desperate to try something to get Malfoy away from his department, no matter how damn good he was at his job. Harry had been sure Kingsley would side with him on the matter — Kingsley was his friend, they’d been in the Order together.

Kingsley hadn’t been sympathetic, or even the slightest bit understanding. He had given Harry a right bollocking over it. Harry rarely saw him as angry as he’d been that afternoon.

“You think you’re the first pair of idiots with a schoolyard rivalry from Hogwarts to end up working together at the Ministry?” Harry had been worried Kingsley would pop a blood vessel in his eye. All Harry could do was stammer out a pathetic _No, sir_. “Then stand down and do your fucking job, for _Merlin’s sake_ , Harry!”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” Harry had choked out as he made a hasty exit, feeling every inch the kicked puppy instead of an Auror of three years. “Sorry, sir.”

Yet despite the multiple, exasperated telling offs the Head Auror and Kingsley had given him, here Harry was contemplating following Malfoy to a fucking Muggle bakery. He tried to focus on the crime scene reports in front of him, but his eyes kept flicking up to the small brass clock on his desk. If he left in the next two minutes, and used the Auror emergency exit to the Muggle street level, he would be able to catch Malfoy exactly ten seconds after he left the Ministry. Something in his gut was telling Harry he needed to check this out; that it was a red flag for Malfoy to be popping off to a Muggle bakery of all places, in the middle of the workday. He trusted his gut more than he trusted the Head Auror’s promise that Malfoy was an upstanding citizen now. None of them knew Malfoy like he did, knew when he was plotting something sinister.

“Fancy a tea or coffee, Nev?” Harry asked as he stood to grab Sirius’ leather jacket from the coat stand.

“Cappuccino would be brilliant, thanks Harry,” Neville said without looking up from the report he was poring over.

“Yeah, sure.” Harry nodded as he ducked out of the room, shoving his hands deep into the jacket’s pockets.

He kept his head down as he skirted Robards and the Assistant Head Auror, making his way to the emergency exit. He could be suspended for using the exit when it wasn’t an emergency, but the feeling in his gut — that urgent _need to know right now_ feeling — was enough to get him through the wards on the door without detection. He sighed in relief as he made it through, glad that he didn’t have to waste any time dismantling the intricate wards. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what felt so off about Malfoy willingly going into Muggle shops, but it just felt _wrong_ in his head; like it skewed his world view. Chocolate Frogs — good, Draco Malfoy — Pureblood, racist arsehole who was abrasive to work with.

Harry nodded to himself solemnly as he made it to the street level. He ducked behind a dumpster and cast an advanced Disillusionment Charm on himself. He waited until he saw Malfoy’s unmistakable flash of white-blond hair as he turned down the street, counting out ten seconds in his head, before stealthily following behind. He dodged Muggles left and right, but was easily able to keep Malfoy in his sights.

Just seeing Malfoy out in Muggle London, blending in with them all in his wool coat and suit trousers, made Harry’s skin itch with suspicion. It had been another shock to Harry’s system to see Malfoy _always_ in some kind of Muggle get-up. He almost never seemed to wear robes, unless they were the more modern cut that were worn open and cut shorter. It was nothing like the Pureblood brat he had known in school. The waistcoats he favoured with an endless amount of tiny buttons drove Harry’s concentration to shit at the DMLE; they annoyed him whenever Malfoy wore them. _Who the fuck has time in the morning to do up that many small buttons?_ Harry always thought when he saw the waistcoats.

Harry ground his teeth together as he hastily swooped into the bakery behind a woman with perfectly coiffed hair. Malfoy was already queued up. He expected Malfoy to show fear of his surroundings, or perhaps be confused over how Muggle money worked. Harry was disappointed, almost, to find that Malfoy looked completely at ease. Harry stood off to the side while his quarry stepped up to the counter to browse the pastry selection on display.

“May I please have two of the chocolate tartlets, a half-dozen of the gingersnap biscuits, and a large Earl Grey?” Malfoy asked with his eyes still on the display case. The young man behind the counter tapped his fingers quickly across the electronic till as Malfoy ordered.

“That’ll be twelve pounds forty five, sir,” the employee said. “Name?”

“Draco,” Malfoy answered, handing over a fiver and a handful of pound coins. He didn’t flinch or shy away when the young man opened the till with a jarring _clang-cling_ sound and counted out Malfoy’s change. He didn’t move, even when their hands brushed together as Malfoy accepted his money. Harry watched with wide eyes as Malfoy simply shuffled over to the pick up section of the counter with the other Muggles waiting on orders, like he did this all the time. He looked bored, if anything. Harry shook his head in disbelief.

Harry shifted out of the way of a Muggle that almost knocked into him, nearly missing Malfoy exiting the bakery on his way back to the Ministry. As Harry ducked back out into the biting chill, he decided that Malfoy’s excursion to the Muggle shop was weird — surely he was up to something. Harry wondered if the bakery was the only Muggle place that Malfoy visited, and perhaps that was why he was so comfortable inside. Otherwise, why would he be willing to interact with Muggles? Harry decided on his walk back to the Ministry that he would need to shadow Malfoy throughout the week from afar until he could discern a pattern.

Halfway back to the Ministry Harry realised that he’d forgot Neville’s coffee. He groaned, ducking quickly into the first coffee shop he came across.

*******

Harry briefly considered pulling Malfoy’s personnel file, but that required special secondary clearance when the person in question worked within the DMLE. He didn’t want anyone to find out what he was doing, not yet. He wanted to wait until he had some solid evidence to prove that he was right, that Malfoy was a slimy git and always would be. In the meantime, Harry needed to resort to being crafty to get what he needed.

Leeds and Parkinson were still out conducting interviews by the end of the following afternoon. Malfoy had popped in at half past four to report on what he’d discovered so far about the Exaltation Elixir. Harry listened with half an ear, pretending he was engrossed in the crime scene photo in front of him, while Malfoy’s drawling voice went on and on to Neville.

“The Blood Readings I’ve gone over all confirm the same thing.” Malfoy was in the middle of explaining to Neville. “Taking the potion makes the heart rate beat alarmingly fast, enough to force an adrenal reaction. In other words, they literally feel invincible and their body can almost back them up. In most cases, that is. I would need to study it in a controlled setting with a Healer to be able to understand it better. I can only understand it from the potion makeup.”

“So we should get a notice out to the patrol teams to look for people lifting Muggle cars with their bare hands, then?” Neville asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“More like look for people who jump off of buildings and can actually fly without a broom. Their magical cores mix with the adrenaline pumping through their veins and cause bursts of accidental magic,” Malfoy answered. Neville’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Harry wasn’t pretending to be absorbed into the photo in his hands anymore. “Yes, that’s more along the lines of the reaction I was expecting.”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry said absently. He glanced down at the photo in his hands again, tilting his head while he studied it. “Come here. Tell me what you make of this, now that we know the potion can force accidental magic to manifest.”

Malfoy moved like a lanky cat, all limbs and syrupy motions that annoyed Harry and set his teeth on edge. He tapped his foot impatiently, shoving the photo towards Malfoy. Harry took the opportunity to study him while Malfoy was watching the loop of the crime scene photo. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and he nibbled on the corner of his bottom lip. Harry’s eyes lingered on Malfoy’s mouth for a moment before moving on to catalogue the way his eyes flit across the moving scene in the photo. The cocky persona from a moment ago was gone, replaced by someone Harry was far less familiar with — someone contemplative, looking for an answer to an unasked question. It made his stomach twinge uncomfortably.

“Yes,” Malfoy said finally, glancing up at Harry. “Yes, I think that’s what happened here. Look at the scorch marks, could be an accidental burst of magic similar to casting an _Incendio_. Looks like it might have startled the victim, to the point where he couldn’t control the fire.”

Malfoy’s long, nimble fingers were pointing to different portions of the photo while he made his speculations. Harry nodded in agreement, trying not to stare for too long at Malfoy’s manicured nails or the wand callus he could see on the side of his pointer finger. Harry glanced back at the looping photo, which showed a charred hand sticking out from under a cloth sheet. Obliviators and Aurors milled around the photo, talking to a group of people on the edge of the frame. Muggle witnesses. Malfoy and Harry shared a look for a long moment, neither of them speaking into the void that stretched between them in the wake of their realisation.

The moment was broken by the scrape of Neville’s chair as he rose.

“I’m off then. I’m meeting Luna for dinner at the Leaky if you want to join us, Harry,” he said as he packed away several files into his satchel. Malfoy had quickly moved to the other side of the room without Harry noticing. He was gathering his notes into a neat stack of papers. It occurred to Harry that this would be the perfect time to follow Malfoy to see what he was up to.

“No thanks, Nev, but tell her I said hello,” Harry said. He swiped the papers on his desk into a messy, disorganised pile and dumped them into his own satchel. He grabbed his leather jacket from its hook.

“Righto. Night Harry, Draco,” Neville said with a jaunty wave as he stepped out of the office.

Harry turned his back for no more than a second to scoop up his satchel, turning around to pander a goodbye to Malfoy. He glanced around at an empty room in surprise. Malfoy had given him the slip already. Harry grinned to himself. _This might actually be a bit of fun_ , he thought as he hurried out of the DMLE offices to catch up to Malfoy.

He lucked out, it seemed. Malfoy didn’t join the queues for the Floo Network, or the ones for the Apparition platforms. Instead Harry followed as Malfoy took the street level exit into Muggle London. It was a strange sense of déjà vu to follow Malfoy on the same street as he had the day before. Harry chanced hiding behind the same dumpster bin to cast his Disillusionment Charm. He waited a moment for the magic to fully settle over his body before hurrying along the street to tail Malfoy.

They walked for several blocks before Malfoy slowed down, turning a corner abruptly. At first Harry’s stomach plummeted; he thought that Malfoy had caught on that he was being followed. His worries were for naught, he found as he turned the corner and saw Malfoy perusing the marquee of a cinema. The image was just as jarring as seeing Malfoy easily handling Muggle money. He seemed to make a decision because in the next moment he was fishing out notes from his pocket to hand over to the girl in the ticket window. Harry slowly crept closer.

“One ticket for The Forgotten at six. You’ve earned a free fountain drink on your stamp card,” the girl in the window said in a chirpy voice as she handed Malfoy a paper ticket and his change.

“Thank you.” Malfoy nodded and turned to open the door. Harry darted inside first, lingering in the shadows as he watched Malfoy give a piece of paper to the teenager working the concession stand. He took the small drink and seemed to take great pleasure in poking a plastic straw into the hole. Harry watched as his fingers, the same nimble ones that he had stared at earlier in the office, poked at the protruding nubs on the plastic lid. He had noticed other teenagers at the cinema do the same thing before, pressing down until the little rounded buttons were concave. Harry quirked an eyebrow and followed Malfoy into the theatre. Harry chose a seat near the front where he’d be able to watch Malfoy instead of the movie, turning almost all the way around in his seat. He cast a discreet Muggle-Repelling Charm to ensure that he wouldn’t be disturbed or call attention to himself.

Harry wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t what he saw. Malfoy apparently loved the cinema. His face lit up when the commercial reels started, a look of fascination coming over his face. He eagerly sipped at his fountain drink, his eyes flickering and flitting over the screen. He didn’t even flinch when the previews played explosions for an upcoming movie about a Muggle war. When the film actually started, Harry didn’t pay attention to it at all. He was completely absorbed in watching Malfoy’s face. He narrowed his eyes as the plot progressed, smirking and nodding to himself when he must have guessed correctly what would happen. He jumped when something thrilling happened, and leaned forward to the edge of his seat towards the final climax of the film. He was captivating to Harry. It was… Harry wasn’t sure how to describe the feelings fluttering in his ribcage as he discovered this new side of Malfoy. He had to shake his head and remind himself that he was here for a reason, a _mission_. He couldn’t get distracted from that.

Harry followed Malfoy out of the cinema, into the brisk cold of the night. Malfoy wrapped his long scarf in several complicated loops around his neck to bundle up against the chill in the air. Harry tucked his hands deep into his jacket pockets in search of the comforting warmth from the theatre. He kept several paces behind Malfoy until his luck ran out. Malfoy flagged down a black cab with ease and disappeared into the night.

The following day, Harry managed to carefully cast a tracking spell on Malfoy without him noticing. When the workday ended Harry repeated the same routine of duck-Disillusionment-follow as Malfoy continued on, none the wiser. It was Thursday, and apparently Malfoy liked to visit a farmer’s market along the river. He had a canvas bag with him that piqued Harry’s curiosity while he followed at a distance. Malfoy didn’t look lost or confused while he led the way to the market, and he dove right into several stalls. He made small talk with a few of the vendors that he seemed to know as he picked out apples, squash, and asparagus. Harry watched from behind a stand of strawberries as Malfoy lifted fruit to his nose and inhaled deeply. A satisfied smile curled his lips; it made Harry tilt his head.

 _Why are you here? Why isn’t your house-elf doing all of your shopping?_ Harry wondered silently. Kreacher took care of his own groceries, keeping the larder well stocked. The only things Harry needed to get on his own were his favourite digestives. Kreacher stubbornly refused to aid in his biscuit addiction, the little cretin.

Harry snapped back to attention to find Malfoy had moved along further into the market, his canvas bag full of a week’s worth of fresh produce. He was in deep conversation with a vendor, his hands eagerly gesticulating and pointing out different chocolates on the table. Harry took a few steps closer, the heady scent of cocoa and sugar filling his nostrils. The table had an array of chocolate on slate squares with chalk labels pointing out different flavours. Malfoy bought two small bags that the vendor weighed out.

As Malfoy left the market and caught another cab, Harry wracked his brain for reasons why he would shop at a Muggle farmer’s market. He resolved to keep an eye out for the canvas bag next week to determine if it was something Malfoy did often.

Harry found a deserted alley and Apparated home to Grimmauld Place. He made a beeline for the kitchen, popping the cap on a beer and plopped himself down in the sitting room. He shifted around in his favourite lumpy armchair before settling back to think. If he thought directly about Malfoy he could read the tracking spell in his head. Without focusing too hard, Harry determined that Malfoy was in Chelsea. Clearing his mind, he was able to discern, with confusion, that he was in the Muggle district and not the wizarding block of Chelsea.

Harry would have assumed if he’d been told the neighbourhood Malfoy lived in, that it would be in the swanky new wizarding development that boasted high-end accoutrements.

With renewed determination, Harry used the tracking spell to beat Malfoy to Chelsea the following evening, easily Apparating to a deserted street to wait while Malfoy took the long way. Harry lazily flicked his wand, picking up Malfoy’s magical signature up and down the street like flashing marquee lights. With his usual Disillusionment Charm in place, he paced up and down a small portion of the sidewalk, watching Muggles on their way home from work. After nearly twenty minutes a black cab slowed as it pulled up to a row of townhouses down the block. Malfoy elegantly unfolded himself from the backseat, reaching briefly back into the car for his leather bag. Harry watched in a sort of trance as Malfoy waved to a neighbour as he strode through his front gate. He rifled through a metal box hanging on the wall by the door — a Muggle post box, Harry realised belatedly. _What on earth are you doing receiving Muggle post, Malfoy?_ Harry thought in bewilderment. Malfoy made a show of fumbling around with a clanking set of keys. Harry almost missed it, he moved so fast, but — with the briefest of glances around him — Malfoy withdrew his wand.

Harry surged forward with excitement and adrenaline running through him like a shock. This was it, he was going to catch Malfoy in the act of something dastardly; he could feel it in his bones. But the rush left Harry’s body all at once as Malfoy simply tapped his wand discreetly to the doorknob, the wards flashing once, before he entered his home. Harry’s fingers felt numb, almost like he was waking up from sleeping for too long. He looked around the block dumbly, hoping someone might jump out to explain the situation to him, because Harry surely wasn’t getting it.

Malfoy was _willingly_ living in a Muggle townhouse — which was protected by magic, but the principle of the thing still stood — and he was shopping for his own fresh produce, and apparently enjoyed catching a film at the cinema after work.

Harry felt like he was teetering on the edge of something big. Either his worldview was about to skew out of control, like a wayward spinning top wobbling over, or he was about to freefall into a new world order altogether.

He glanced around again, whipping out his wand with such force that it made a small _whoosh_ sound through the air. Harry was grimly determined to find out what Malfoy filled his weekends with, based on his previous observations. He settled himself down against a tree, quickly casting a Cushioning Charm. He set an alarm ward that would alert him if Malfoy left his house. Harry hunched his shoulders and stared unblinkingly up at the mysterious house, seemingly innocuous, and counted the minutes through his stakeout until morning. Throughout the night Harry wished he’d had the foresight to pack something to eat and a thermos in his satchel. He chalked it up to another rookie mistake. Something he was still trying to learn as an Auror was preparedness for anything. In the years since the war he’d let himself get lax. He no longer abided _Constant Vigilance_ , and here was the perfect lesson to teach him to correct that.

Luckily, Harry didn’t have to wait long in the morning for Malfoy to emerge. He was bundled up in a thick, woolly jumper that looked like it would be very soft to the touch. There was a paperback book in one hand, and he was wearing _sunglasses_. Stylish ones, as it were. Harry had the passing thought that they framed Malfoy’s face nicely.

Harry slowly stretched out his limbs, ignoring the teeth-grinding tingling sensations that came from sitting so still for such a long time. Harry reminded himself that the next time he was on stakeout, he should shift about some more. He hobbled to his feet, dangerously listing to the left as his foot felt like it would give out from under him, it was tingling so badly, before righting himself. Malfoy was already strolling towards him, whistling a jaunty tune. His breath made steamy, coiling puffs into the frosty morning air each time he blew out on a whistling note. Harry held his breath as Malfoy passed, waiting until he was ten seconds ahead of him before casting a charm to hide his own steamy clouds of breath.

They didn’t walk very far before Malfoy was walking into a boutique teashop, something that looked like it was a cosy little nook in the wall between two upscale offices. It looked nothing like the patisserie where Malfoy had purchased his tea during the workweek, which had the chain logo stamped onto the to go cup. This teashop was full of cushioned chairs and squat, mismatched tables. There was a reading nook in the window, and all of the patrons had brightly coloured mugs and teacups. Malfoy was already greeting the middle-aged woman behind the counter, going round it to give her a hug and a kiss.

“Morning, Gladys, my sweet!” Malfoy said in a chipper voice that was unlike anything Harry had ever heard from him. It was so different from his normal demeanour around people in the wizarding world, where he was typically distant and closed off. “Don’t you look absolutely stunning this morning?”

“Oh stop, Draco, you spoil an old woman,” she answered with a laugh. “Biggest English I can brew and a raspberry chocolate chip scone?”

“God, yes,” Malfoy said reverently. He grinned as he moved to settle in at a corner table, near the window. He sat in a comfortable looking chair, placing his book on the table. Harry leaned over and felt his eyebrows shooting up high on his forehead when he read the title. It was a mystery novel by a popular Muggle author. Ginny had mentioned the series to him on multiple occasions in her letters from her travels. She swore she couldn’t put them down. She’d gotten them for Arthur as a Christmas gift, but then stolen them from him while she travelled with her team. They both squabbled over who got to read the next book in the series first when they were both home at The Burrow on Sundays.

Harry realised that Malfoy was still chatting with Gladys while he was lost in his own thoughts. He really needed to work on not getting sucked into his own head; it was bad form for an Auror — even if this was a personal case at the moment.

“Did you get to the part at the wharf yet?” Gladys asked as she moved around behind the counter.

“Yes, I just read that part last night before bed. I nearly took a chunk of my own hair out — almost didn’t go to bed!” Malfoy said in an eager rush that made Harry’s stomach feel warm and fluttery. He was leaning forward on his elbows, his mouth moving quickly to form words as he discussed the plot of the book with Gladys. He looked so open, full of life. “Could you believe Marlene and Stanley? And, oh, poor Jill! I honestly didn’t see that one coming.”

“Yes! Just wait until you reach the next part. I can’t wait to discuss it at my book club that comes in on Wednesday nights.” Gladys placed a warm scone and Malfoy’s tea in a ridiculously large mug on the table. The scone smelled wonderful, and reminded Harry that he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the day before. She smiled down at him, wiping her hands on her apron. “I wish you would come some time, are you sure I can’t convince you?”

“Oh, Gladys, you know I would. I have a previous engagement that keeps me tied up until late on Wednesdays,” Malfoy said regretfully. Harry guessed that the cinema trip on Wednesday was a regular occurrence. He watched Malfoy add milk and a ridiculous amount of sugar to his tea. He vaguely recalled the sweets Malfoy’s mother sent him while they were in Hogwarts; he supposed Malfoy never grew out of the sweet tooth.

“Ah, well, you can’t blame me for trying. The ladies would love you.” Malfoy waved her off affectionately, clearly very familiar with her despite only being back in England for the last six months. “Still going to Kew Gardens tomorrow?”

“Every Sunday, like always,” Malfoy said absently as he nibbled on his scone. He made a low, delighted sound in his throat that made Harry’s breath catch. Malfoy’s eyes fluttered closed as he chewed, continuing to make small humming sounds of pleasure. Harry shifted discreetly and glanced around the teashop. He tried to focus on the new fact he learned — that Malfoy’s Sundays consisted of a trip to Kew Gardens.

“I’m still trying to convince Henry that the membership is worth it. Will you mention it to him again when he comes in today?” Gladys asked. A smirk tugged at the corner of Malfoy’s lips before he tamed it into a smile, like he had a secret.

“Yes, certainly,” he answered. Malfoy lowered his head to sip at his tea, hiding his smirk against the rim of the cup. Harry hazarded a guess that Malfoy didn’t pay the membership fee; he likely snuck in through a side entrance. Harry smirked grimly to himself, assured by his assessment of Malfoy’s character. He spent the morning watching Malfoy read his book, drink endless amounts of tea, and chat with Gladys and the other customers. Harry’s stomach protested jealously. He would need to find food soon, or else his unruly stomach would give him away.

By mid-morning Harry forgot again why he originally had started following Malfoy. He became lulled by the comfortable conversation Malfoy kept up with Gladys. Harry thought back to each day during the week he’d seen Malfoy interact with Muggles, and realised that nothing untoward had presented itself yet. In fact, Malfoy seemed more comfortable around Muggles than he did around wizards. Harry’s curiosity was well piqued, and he decided he would need to keep following Malfoy around to keep a close eye on him. He would get to the bottom of this — he would figure out what Malfoy was plotting.

*******

Harry’s focus was pulled back to working on the case when Leeds and Parkinson brought in their status reports a week later. They interviewed Obliviators who were present at different scenes. Each part of their team was piecing together the case bit by bit to decide the best course of action.

“Millicent said she Obliviated the same Muggle twice, two different incidents,” Parkinson reported. Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down the case board, now covered in notes and photos as they gathered evidence.

“And the magical folk at both of those incidents?” Harry asked.

“Unrelated, as far as we can tell. The first one was Hortence Copperpot, young little thing just out of Hogwarts who is supposedly seeing a —” Parkinson glanced down at her notes, “William Forger, who has a rap sheet for possession of illegal substances. Tried to pawn them off in Knockturn Alley.”

“That’s a good lead. Well done, Pansy, I’ll send someone out for Forger to see if we can get anything else out of him,” Neville said. “Maybe we can find a connection with a potions dealer.”

“The other incident was Geralt Digby, and definitely a profile to look for in users. He lost family in the first war and his wife was a Muggle-born that was captured during the second,” Leeds said gravely.

Harry’s eyes darted from Parkinson to Malfoy and back again in quick succession. Malfoy’s shoulders were stiff, but he gave no outward indication of being affected by the comment. Parkinson pursed her lips, already brushing ahead into her next interview report. Neville was paying attention to her while Harry’s eyes trailed back to Malfoy, who was sitting looking regal on the leather sofa. He was still having trouble parsing the Malfoy he was used to seeing at work with the one he had seen around Muggle London. Harry shifted closer and slowly eased himself down at the opposite end. He was wary of Malfoy noticing and snapping at him to get off it. Harry nearly snorted at the thought, it was _his_ sofa, after all.

“What have you found?” Harry leaned forward to glance over Malfoy’s notes — they were illegible to him, written in small and neat shorthand. Malfoy turned slightly towards Harry, raising one elegant eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, I can tell you’ve found something. You have your puzzle face on,” Harry countered. It was the determined look Malfoy always got when he found a piece that fit. Malfoy’s other eyebrow rose to join the first.

“Don’t presume to know me, Potter. Professionally, or otherwise.” Malfoy’s lip curled as his eyes narrowed. “You are, however, correct. I have found something new.”

Malfoy held up his notes. “When I was analyzing each instance we’ve found so far of Exaltation Elixir, it was bothersome to pin down the base properties. Three different patterns have emerged, but what that tells us is that there are different brewers who are putting their own specialty into the brew.”

“Great,” Harry said flatly. He hated potions cases. Malfoy’s eyes flashed with something Harry couldn’t put a name to. “So how can we know for sure which brewers are putting their own spin on things?”

“I have several contacts I can reach out to,” Malfoy said, looking back down at his shorthand.

“Yeah, I bet,” he muttered. Malfoy stiffened, reaching out a hand for the diagram Harry still held on to. His face was an icy mask of stone; it was back to the status quo. Harry braced for a barbed remark.

“In France I had a case in my first year that did something similar, using multiple brewer’s signatures,” Malfoy said after a moment with an arrogant clip in his voice. “I was the only one who was able to figure it out. It saved a lot of people when I did. I earned a commendation for my hard work on that case.”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably; his blood was boiling, as it always did when it came to Malfoy. Part of him wanted to grip Malfoy by the collar of his argyle jumper, draw him in close and ask bitterly if he thought Lucius was proud of him for putting the war behind him. He let out a gusty breath, flexing his hand that had curled into a fist without his notice. From the corner of his eye he saw Neville glancing at them both with a worried look.

“My point, Potter, is that I’ve seen this before, and I know what it means for our investigation,” Malfoy went on, drawing himself up haughtily. Harry waved a hand for him to continue. Malfoy took another moment to respond, just to spite him surely, and when he spoke again he became serious. “It means specifically that there are different ways to force the adrenal reaction based on what signature ingredients they put in the potions. Which means different ways for accidental magic to manifest. One brew could potentially focus on a certain type of magic.”

“I… see,” Harry said lamely, his face feeling hot and prickly. That didn’t bode well for being able to capture the culprits of this potion addiction crisis before it got bigger. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, talk to your contacts as soon as possible. Please.”

With the barest of nods, Malfoy strode from the room without a backward glance.

*******

Malfoy remained his usual snappish self throughout the rest of the week, keeping Harry more on edge than ever. Anytime Malfoy caught Harry’s gaze on him he’d say something to push Harry’s buttons. He found himself missing the secret, Muggle-friendly Malfoy that he had followed around. Harry was less careful about his stealth stakeout technique when his thoughts were distracted. He was thinking about the way Malfoy had tucked a wayward lock of hair behind his ear while he turned a page in his book. Malfoy caught him staring no less than four times during the week, each time growing more agitated by Harry’s watchful stare.

It was Malfoy’s suspicious behaviour that got Harry to sit up and take proper notice, enough to warrant him looking into Malfoy again. Harry started to suspect that perhaps Malfoy was involved in the case — from the wrong side of the investigation. He took longer lunches, and snuck off throughout the day, looking left and right like a cartoon cat burglar before he crept away. It was almost like he was begging Harry to catch him, and Harry wasn’t one to resist the pull of catching Malfoy out at doing something he shouldn’t be.

On Friday Harry lost his patience and followed Malfoy home from work. He waited outside of Malfoy’s townhouse, reviewing the observations he had made on the way to determine if anything had seemed out of the ordinary. The only truly curious thing had been Malfoy stopping for several long seconds, glancing into the glass of a shop window, before continuing on with hunched shoulders.

Harry sprang to attention from his hiding spot when Malfoy popped back out of his home, sparing a moment to realise how good Malfoy looked in tight black trousers and an expensive looking brown leather bomber jacket over a clingy shirt, open at the collar. He kept to the shadows, quickly sliding in and out of them as he kept pace behind Malfoy’s languorous stroll. Harry wondered if they were heading towards a meeting with one of the contacts Malfoy had mentioned. He wondered if the contact was a Muggle-born, or someone like Malfoy who chose to live in Muggle London.

After a ride on the Tube — complete with Harry’s bafflement at the sight of Draco Malfoy with an Oyster card, expertly navigating the Underground — they were dumped out in Soho. Harry scrambled to catch up as Malfoy’s long legs carried him easily through the Friday night crowd. As they neared a brick building Harry hung back to watch as Malfoy glanced at the line of people standing at the door before ducking into the side alley and talking to the person he found there. Harry crept closer, his instinct telling him to stay close.

Harry didn’t understand why Malfoy needed to come all the way to Soho for this meeting, but the location was ideal for the sort of clandestine meet that needed to be kept secret. Malfoy’s mouth moved close over the other man’s ear before brushing by and entering the door to the building. Harry cursed under his breath and walked back around to the front of the building to sneak in undetected with a group going through the front doors.

It was immediately apparent to Harry that he’d gotten something wrong somewhere along the way. Music pulsed through the building, something he hadn’t noticed outside, and lights flashed as they swept the room. Bodies were moving as a morphing mass in the centre of the room, swaying to the bass beat. He noticed a bar along the left wall and made a beeline for it, sure that he would need a drink if he was staying here for a while. Harry ducked into the shadow of a coat room to put on a standard set of Glamour Charms. As he slipped out and made his way to the bar he caught sight of Malfoy. Harry’s heart felt like it might stop for a beat or five.

Malfoy was on the dance floor, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder and his hands sliding sensually up the chest of another man. Their hips moved together in tandem with the beat of the song, and when the man leaned in to whisper something in Malfoy’s ear he laughed. Heat seared through Harry’s gut at the picture they made together, laughing and sliding together like oil and water.

“Whisky, neat,” Harry said shortly to the bartender. Once his drink was in front of him he knocked it back in two quick gulps, clanking the glass roughly back to the bar top. “Lager,” he grunted. The bartender rolled his eyes at Harry and turned away. Harry closed his eyes and let the feel of the whisky burn through the surge of irritation in his veins. His mind was working quickly to come up with a believable story that explained what Malfoy was doing here tonight, the gears in his head working to come up with some solution other than the obvious — Malfoy out dancing with Muggles.

He sought out Malfoy’s white-blond hair on the dance floor and his stomach tightened at the sight of him wrapped around his dance partner, mouthing at the other man’s neck.

 _He’s involved in this potions case somehow_ , Harry thought as he washed away the spicy bitterness in his mouth with a lager. _I just need to prove it_.

Harry watched Malfoy through two more songs, moving to a quieter spot at the bar and a better vantage point. He shoved it aside when his brain supplied the thought of how well Malfoy moved; those syrupy movements that rankled him in the office were well suited on the dance floor. Malfoy caught his gaze once, staring right at him — almost through him — before he pulled his dance partner into the shadows. Harry edged closer to listen to whatever their private meeting was about, but quickly left when he heard a distinct groan punctuated by the sounds of kissing.

He moved quickly through the club, only stopping when he was out in the blessed chill of the night. He drank the brisk air into his lungs. He needed to work out a plan to better handle his surveillance of Malfoy.

With a plan starting to form in his mind, Harry turned down a deserted side street and Apparated with a _pop_ into the night.

*******

Draco was fully aware that Potter was stalking him.

When he had first caught the righteous bastard tailing him he’d been annoyed. It felt like bloody sixth year all over again. Irritation festered in his stomach, blooming into anger over the injustice of it all. He believed he had already proved himself enough. His career seemed to be enough in the eyes of the Wizengamot — but no, if Harry Potter thought someone was a suspicious character, apparently that was all that mattered.

Draco’s anger had been soothed when a plan formed. He decided that if Potter was determined to follow him, then he would take the Auror on a little adventure. The idea amused him, filled his days with entertainment as he thought of more and more places to lead Potter on his little chase.

At first it was just his normal routine — things he had come to enjoy, like his time drinking tea while discussing mystery novels with Gladys, and popping into the Muggle cinema. Then, after he noticed Potter follow him to Soho, he decided to take the game a step further. Draco smirked to himself, remembering the ideas he had thought up as he worked his way through a bottle of wine and his favourite book from his mystery collection, using the plot as inspiration for his plan. He made the decision to be appallingly obvious that he was sneaking around and not seeking attention.

On his way to the final week of the riverfront farmer’s market, which closed for the winter season, he spotted a chemist and ducked in quickly. He deliberately browsed the gleaming metal shelves by the door, keeping half an ear out for the door lingering open longer than it should. Draco barely managed to contain his snort of amusement as his eyes scanned the shelves for something ridiculous to purchase.

He ran his fingers across the differently shaped bottles that lined the shelf, picking up a bottle of aspirin. He swore he heard the squeak of a shoe against the linoleum as he wandered down the next aisle. He meandered to a stack of baskets, picked one up, and dumped his aspirin bottle into it. In the next aisle he grinned to himself as he picked out a box of flavoured condoms. In the back of the store he found multicoloured hair combs. On impulse he also added a tube of lipstick to his basket, making sure to inspect it with abject curiosity before finding the till.

Draco left the store barely able to conceal his grin; he only wished he could see Potter’s face.

Two days later Draco stopped off at Tesco to pick up chocolate digestives and a small carton of ice cream. As he debated over which flavour ice cream he wanted, he found it difficult to ignore the warmth Potter’s body radiated in the chilled aisle. Draco briefly spared a thought to wonder if the Auror was losing his touch, or if Draco really did drive him to that much distraction.

The following afternoon Draco was interrupted from reading the Telegraph, catching up on the latest Muggle happenings, and looking for upcoming movie releases in the entertainment section, when a shadow fell heavily across his desk. He looked up into Potter’s face, looming over him and eyeing the Muggle paper in Draco’s hands.

“Can I help you?” Draco asked sharply. He flicked his paper so that it snapped, folding it over and laying it down on his desk. Potter stared down at the paper as if it offended him on a personal level. Draco cleared his throat pointedly, catching Potter’s attention again. “Was there something you needed, Potter? I don’t have anything from the test results yet. I told you I would come to you when I have something.”

“Right.” Potter’s eyes skated back down to the paper, his head tilting like he was studying some wild beast.

“Surely you’ve seen a newspaper in your life. If memory serves, I recall you being on the front page once or twice,” Draco goaded.

“Once or twice,” Potter echoed, his brows furrowing and a frown tugging at his lips until his face was set in an attractive, brooding look.

“Potter,” Draco repeated, when Potter simply stared off into space. He met Draco’s gaze, then turned away to leave without saying anything. “Prick,” Draco muttered under his breath as he flipped his paper over to continue reading.

*******

On Tuesday evening of the last week of September Draco found himself biting his lip before entering a brightly lit store. He had debated back and forth with himself over whether or not he really wanted what he was there for, but after he had seen Millicent’s girlfriend with one it had clinched the decision for him. The fact that it was another Muggle adventure to lead Potter on was neither here nor there.

A large, glowing insignia of an apple with a chunk missing hung at the back of the store. A friendly-faced worker greeted Draco.

“Evening, sir. May I direct you to what you’re looking for?” Draco wasn’t familiar with this store, or with much Muggle technology. He was handy with a record player, but computers still gave him trouble. He was lucky they weren’t standard when he worked in France; he heard from a friend at the Ministère de la Magie that they were being instated next year.

“I’m looking for an iPod,” Draco answered finally, his eyes still flitting around the store. For a brief moment he thought he felt Potter shifting by, but surely that was too sloppy — even for Potter. Draco had seen the man in action; he was quite the force to be reckoned with in the field.

“Excellent, right this way, sir,” the worker chirped. Draco allowed himself to be led over to the table to the left, where the compact music devices were displayed. “Is there a particular size or colour you’re interested in?”

“I like green. Or silver.” Draco’s lips twitched when he heard the faintest of muffled snorts. “As for size, I haven’t got very much music to put on the device. I like the little ones, so I can carry it with me easily, and perhaps listen to while I’m at work.”

“Very good, sir, you’ll be pleased with the new gold and silver colours we’ve introduced this year.” The worker picked up the silver display model and offered it to Draco. “These come in four gigs.”

Draco nodded as if he knew exactly what the salesman was talking about. He wanted to let Potter believe he understood everything about the shop, since he was sure Potter didn’t. Potter likely only knew the virtues of the television, rather than the computer or other modern advances in Muggle technology. Smirking to himself he nodded and gestured towards the back of the store.

“Sounds perfect, I’ll take it,” he said. As he handed over the Muggle money he made a mental note to see Millicent and her girlfriend about setting him up with some music, and showing him how his new device worked.

As he walked down the street with his shopping bag, a mannequin in a shop window caught his eye. He paused for a moment, eyeing the clothing on display. The sign in front of the outfitted mannequin touted it as the latest in designer jeans, paired with a ludicrously overpriced t-shirt with a deep v-neck. Draco quirked an eyebrow as he gave the outfit a once over, considering how Potter might react to seeing him in it. He would surely be pulling a playmate if he wore that to the clubs with his leather jacket. In truth, he had only gotten the jacket after he had seen the one Potter owned. Making a snap decision based on how much wearing even more Muggle clothes — jeans, no less — would piss Potter off, he strode into the store.

To his immense pleasure, it turned out swapping out his daily uniform of waistcoats and jumpers for an array of v-neck shirts under his open cardigan not only perplexed Potter, but they also seemed to drive him a bit mad. Draco caught Potter’s eyes several times over the rest of the week staring openly, hungrily at the little peek of collarbone showing at his neck. He stared back at Potter, even going so far as to clear his throat to gain his attention, before letting his lips curl ever so slowly into a cat that got the cream grin.

Potter spent an awfully long time staring at that, too.

*******

Draco was in the analyst lab late on Friday. The only light on in the room was over his desk against the far wall. Cauldrons bubbled away under Stasis Charms. A mug of long-cooled tea sat at his elbow.

As he poured over his latest test results of the potion, pulled post-mortem from the stomach of the overdose victims, he wondered if he would be able to track down one of the brewers on his own without the rest of the team slowing him down. Reaching out to his contacts had done nothing; Draco needed to skip over the dealers and speak with the actual distributors. He knew it went against protocol, and that he was just a consultant — going into the field to track down the evildoer was certainly not in his job description. Pansy would have his hide if he tried that stunt again, after the last time when Potter had to save his arse just one month after working for the DMLE. It was embarrassing, his face still flamed just thinking of it.

Yet, part of him was intrigued by the development of the potion. He had a theory that he would like to investigate further, something he had been toying with in the back of his head as soon as he discovered the intricacies of the Exaltation Elixir.

With a flourish he signed and sent off a request to obtain an actual sample of the potion to study further. If he couldn’t get the potion through the correct channels and protocols, then he’d take matters into his own hands.

Draco wanted to test if alterations would make the potion a viable option for his mother. She had gone rather manic since his father’s Kiss. He wondered if he would be able to brew a safe batch, with the nasty side effects dulled down, if he could get his hands on a bit of the potion. If it worked for his mother, then he might even be able make it work for the masses that suffered from PTSD in the magical community. He would be able to prove to the Wizengamot, and even Potter, beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was not defined by the mistakes he made when he was sixteen.

Sighing, Draco pulled the latest report closer and leaned over to read it again until the words blurred together.

*******

On Harry’s way into the Ministry on Monday morning he was forced to pause and loiter behind a large potted plant. Malfoy was talking politely to _Hermione_ , of all people, in the hallway that led to the DMLE offices. His long-fingered, elegant hands were gesturing while Hermione held his new Muggle device in her hands. She nodded at what he was saying. Harry discreetly nudged the potted plant further down the hall, creeping along behind it to be able to listen to them.

“I managed to use the basic wards on it at my home, but I’m worried that won’t be enough to save it from the Ministry’s magic,” Malfoy explained. Hermione took out her wand and waved it over Malfoy’s silver device.

“Yes, you’re right. I barely managed to get my mobile warded properly to be able to work within the Ministry. I keep petitioning anyone who will listen to instate more Muggle forms of communication,” Hermione said as she worked. Harry watched as ward after ward began knitting itself around the compact device.

“Have you heard that they’re getting computers put in over at the French Ministry in the New Year?” Malfoy asked conversationally.

“I did! That’s what’s got me going again,” Hermione answered eagerly, clearly glad to have someone besides Ron or Harry to natter on about her petitions to. She had already talked his ear off all weekend about the matter. Harry rolled his eyes and contained an exasperated sigh. He turned his attention back to the conversation he was eavesdropping on. “—and you know the communication tests showed high percentage rates of information passed correctly between departments, rather than the current memo method. I think I’ll try to catch Kingsley on my way to lunch to suggest it again.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Hermione worked on warding Malfoy’s contraption.

“Oh, did you catch _The Royal_ last night?” Malfoy piped up. Harry noticed that his eyes took on a lively glow of excitement, one he hadn’t seen on Malfoy since their early school days. Hermione lit up, too.

“I _did_! Oh, can you believe Doctor Gordon? He was in true form.” Hermione handed the warded device back, shaking her head over whoever Doctor Gordon was. He couldn’t believe Hermione and Malfoy watched the same programme. “Here’s your iPod. Do you like it?”

“Quite a bit, actually. More than I first thought I would. Obliviator Bulstrode’s girlfriend has one, and showed me how to get my records onto it — the Muggle and wizarding ones,” Malfoy answered. He pressed a button and offered a white ear bud to her that resembled Fred and George’s Extendable Ears — minus the actual ear. Harry watched, hand on his wand, as Hermione fitted the bud into her ear. Her smile grew slowly until it stretched into a full grin. Her head bobbed along to notes of music that Harry couldn’t hear. Malfoy was smiling at her, which was just weird in Harry’s opinion. The prat called her a racial slur all through their school days, and here he was sharing music and smiles with her in the hallway at the Ministry. The sight made an irrational bout of jealousy sear through Harry’s stomach. He clenched his fists and shifted behind the plant.

“Oh — Harry!” Hermione called, waving at him. Harry tensed and slowly stepped out from his hiding place behind the plant. Malfoy’s smile vanished instantly. “Come look, Draco’s bought an iPod.”

Malfoy stared Harry down with a knowing look, silently daring him to walk away or walk up to them. Harry ground his teeth together and made his feet move, ignoring the lead weight settling in his stomach. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at Harry’s slow trudge towards them. When he reached them he silently accepted the ear bud that Malfoy offered.

“Should I sterilize it first, or something?” Harry asked snidely. Hermione glared at him. Harry’s attention snapped back to Malfoy, who was smirking meanly.

“I don’t have anything nasty you can catch from an ear bud, Potter. I can’t say the same for you, though,” Malfoy answered, eyes looking him up and down. “Put the damn speaker in your ear.”

Harry grunted, but complied, jamming the white plastic into his ear. He watched with a bored expression as Malfoy fiddled with the buttons. Harry was surprised when he knew the song that started up.

“You know the Rolling Stones?” Harry asked as the familiar chords filtered into his ears. He caught Malfoy’s piercing gaze, which flicked quickly down at Harry’s chest and up again. Harry wondered if Malfoy had only looked them up because Harry occasionally wore his beat up Rolling Stones t-shirt to work on the days he utilized the Auror sparring facility. “Do you have the vinyl? The sound quality on this is good… but nothing beats listening to the record,” Harry found himself saying, his tongue wagging without his permission. Malfoy’s lips twitched in amusement.

“They’re not my favourite, but I appreciate a few songs. I’m more of a Beatles fan, myself.” Malfoy’s thumb swiped slowly along the wheel, almost sensually. Harry felt his breath catch for a moment, his eyes glued to the movement. He barely registered the beat halting and the sound of a popular Beatles song starting up in his ear. When he looked up again Malfoy was eyeing him speculatively.

Suddenly the hallway felt hot and oppressive. Harry tugged the white cord roughly from his ear, the bud swaying wildly in the air as he thrust it back towards Malfoy.

“I have to go —”

“ _Harry_ ,” Hermione admonished sharply. Malfoy was pinning him with an unreadable look that Harry didn’t want to try to decipher.

“I’m late for a meeting,” Harry blurted. “Malfoy, Neville and I are calling a team meeting this afternoon, so be ready with a case progress report by then.”

Harry didn’t wait for an answer, pushing his way past Malfoy and Hermione.

*******

Harry spent the rest of the week feeling restless. It didn’t help that Malfoy seemed to be everywhere around the department. He was popping in and out of Harry’s office all week, dropping off reports and new case files as more reports of overdoses and potion-related incidents came trickling in. Whenever Malfoy showed up he had his white ear bud cords dangling around his neck.

Harry’s anxiety came to a head on Friday, when he decided to follow Malfoy again to blow off some steam.

The trek started off like it had before, a ride on the Tube from Chelsea to Soho and a walk through the Friday night crowds spilling out of different bars. Harry only paid partial attention to where Malfoy was headed, assuming he was going dancing at the same club as before. It wasn’t until he had snuck inside and hidden in the loo to put on a set of Glamour Charms did he realise how very different it was from the club.

It dawned on Harry as he left the stall that there were couples together in other stalls, getting off with squelching and sucking sounds punctuated by breathy moans. He washed his hands before hurrying out of the loo, straight into the sweating and pulsing mass of bodies gathered on the dance floor. There were lights flashing overhead as men paired off, doing their level best to suck each other’s faces off all over the dance floor. Harry looked around in surprise, taking in the seedy gay bar’s grimy aesthetic. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed so much when he came in.

He jumped when a burly set of arms settled around his waist, pulling him back against a muscular, sweaty bare chest. Harry glanced over his shoulder and scowled at the stranger grinding enthusiastically against Harry’s arse.

“C’mon, love, don’t be like that,” the stranger slurred. Harry’s nose wrinkled at the stale, lager-scented breath. His stubble scratched against Harry’s ear as he leaned in closer. “Bet I could have fun with you. You look like you’re sturdy.”

“Piss off,” Harry grumbled, elbowing the stranger easily in the gut. He stepped on the man’s foot as he manoeuvred himself towards the bar, desperate for a drink.

“Bloody tight-arsed fucker!” the stranger shouted after him, earning Harry the attention of several of the men in the vicinity as he shoved his way through the crowd to the bar. Harry stuck two fingers up without turning back to answer. He leaned one elbow against the sticky bar while his eyes scanned the room for Malfoy.

The bar was grittier than the dance club Malfoy had visited before. People there were less focused on conversations and polite dancing. Some people were even openly getting off in the shadows without making it to the loo, the strobe occasionally lighting on them and giving the room a glimpse of skin on skin.

“What’ll y’have?” The bartender hovered at Harry’s elbow, his attention already straying onto the next customer.

“Pint of Carling,” Harry answered. He spotted Malfoy as his pint was set down in front of him. He quickly took a swig of his beer to wash away the bitter, ashy taste that clung to his throat as he watched Malfoy on the dance floor.

Malfoy ground his hips purposefully against his Muggle partner’s, making Harry seethe. He gripped his glass with a white-knuckled grip, unsure of the reason his blood was suddenly boiling. The man sitting next to Harry at the bar gave him a quick look before shuffling further away. Harry drank his pint too quickly as he watched Malfoy and his potential pull dancing. He snorted to himself; what Malfoy was currently doing with his hips could barely be called dancing. It was full on primal. The bastard looked sinful, pressing his whole body against the Muggle’s, whose hands were skating along Malfoy’s back. One hand was pressing up under Malfoy’s t-shirt — another v-neck that was specifically designed to drive Harry wild, it seemed — and the other dipping fingers into the waistband of Malfoy’s low-slung jeans. Harry saw Malfoy throw his head back, mouth open in a quiet moan, as the Muggle squeezed his arse and tugged their hips together.

Before Harry had the chance to order another pint, the Muggle was dragging Malfoy towards a side door with a seductive smile. Harry ground his teeth together as he snuck along the edges of the room, and crept out into the shadows of the alley that the door led to.

Malfoy was leaning against the brick wall, his jeans pulled down to mid-thigh. Harry’s mouth gaped open, his breath coming in short pants, at the sight Malfoy made. His milky pale thighs were peeking out, and the Muggle kneeling in front of him was sucking his hard cock. Malfoy’s long fingers were tangled in the other man’s hair, tugging him forward onto his cock on every third bob of the man’s head.

“Fuck, yes,” Malfoy breathed, leaning his head back against the wall. His exhaled pants made steamy clouds of breath that rose into the night.

Harry was glued to the spot, absolutely frozen and unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of Malfoy as he was falling apart. Belatedly, Harry realised he was rock hard in his pants. His cock was straining against the confines of his jeans, and part of him desperately wanted to rip open his flies and wank right then and there. He resisted the urge, eyes tracking the spit-slicked lips of the stranger kneeling before Malfoy as Malfoy’s cock sank into the stranger’s mouth over and over again.

“Suck it. Nearly there.” Malfoy’s murmur drifted over to Harry’s ears. He pressed the heel of his palm roughly against himself to relieve a little bit of the pressure and desire for friction. “ _Fuck_!” Malfoy gave a strangled shout and then he arched away from the wall, back bowed perfectly as he fell over the edge and came all over the stranger’s face. Harry’s pulse was pounding in his ears as he watched Malfoy smile lazily at the stranger, thumb swiping across a glob of come on the man’s lip, before he caught his breath and tucked his prick away. Malfoy patted the man on the cheek and strolled down the alley to the main street, disappearing into the night.

Harry disregarded the stranger, shuffling further back into the shadows and Apparating home, directly into his bedroom. He couldn’t get the image of Malfoy coming out of his head. His cock throbbed in his jeans, demanding attention, but Harry ignored it, resolutely refusing to wank over Malfoy. He went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped off his clothes, and ducked under the cool spray of water.

He stood there for a long time, getting lost in the water pounding against his back.

All throughout the weekend and into the next week Harry couldn’t get Friday night out of his head. Whenever he saw Malfoy in the office he stared, more than ever, earning himself a steely, grey-eyed stare in return. At night his dreams taunted him relentlessly, with Malfoy kneeling before him in his office. By Tuesday night the dream morphed into one of _him_ taking _Malfoy’s cock_ in his mouth and allowing Malfoy to thrust down his throat as Harry’s head was pinned against a grimy brick wall.

*******

Harry fell back into a routine of keeping an eye on Malfoy’s comings and goings. Malfoy continued to act suspicious as he crept around the Ministry, swiping files and staring for long bouts of time at the case board in Neville and Harry’s office.

He figured if he kept doggedly after Malfoy, then soon enough the slimy bastard would slip up and Harry would catch him at it.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than Harry thought it would. On a windy Thursday afternoon in the middle of October, Harry was following Malfoy through Wending Circle, a smaller wizarding quarter that had opened the year after the war ended. The section was much smaller than Diagon Alley, with far less side streets. The buildings were newer, and held none of the scars that some of Diagon Alley still carried.

Malfoy hurried along at a brisk pace, his hands keeping a tight hold on the long scarf looped around his neck. The wind was unforgiving, making Malfoy’s blond hair fly up wildly, dancing above his head. Harry kept pace with him, keeping several steps behind under his usual Disillusionment Charm. He tugged his woollen hat lower over his cold ears as Malfoy quickly rounded the corner ahead.

Harry nearly missed it when he turned the corner, just barely catching a glimpse of Malfoy slipping through a nondescript door set between two brightly coloured shop windows. When Harry snuck through the door he saw Malfoy at the end of a covered side alley, talking to a man in the shadows. He inched closer, careful not to step too loudly. When he was close enough he recognised the man speaking to Malfoy.

“I already spoke to Higgins, he couldn’t get me the information I needed,” Malfoy said. His face was half covered in shadow, but Harry could still see the calculating look on his face. “The only thing I was able to get out of him was that you and Richter had what I need.”

“Well, maybe they was lyin’, did you think of that?” Edward Finch sneered. Harry put his hand on his wand holster, unsure whether he would need to step in. Finch was well known to the Aurors. He was a potions dealer who somehow kept managing to slip the charges brought up against him. Malfoy recoiled when Finch got in his face, his nose wrinkling at the sour stench of the man that wafted over to where Harry stood several feet away.

“Don’t play games with me, Edward,” Malfoy snarled as he grabbed fistfuls of Finch’s robes. He gave him a rough shake. “You know you’re a small fish to me. You’re nothing compared to having the Dark Lord living in my house. Stop wasting my time.”

Malfoy released Finch roughly, smirking as the potions dealer stumbled back against the wall.

“Think you’re better’n me, don’tcha, since you’re a Death Eater that got off scot free an’ all. But look at you — working for them like they’ve got you on a leash. You’re just their little bitch of a dog, Malfoy,” Finch crooned in an oily tone. Malfoy snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Of course I’m better than you, you idiot. Now,” he said softly, hefting his money pouch. Harry could hear the sound of gold clinking together. “Are you going to be helpful, like any smart man would be, or am I going to have to make a citizen’s arrest for trying to sell me illegal potions?”

Finch’s eyes flickered back and forth between Malfoy’s cold look and the money pouch. He was silent for long moments while the gears in his head seemed to work slowly to a decision.

“Alright,” Finch said gruffly. “But don’t you dare be double crossin’ me, boy.” Finch waved a gnarled, yellow nail in Malfoy’s face. Malfoy grimaced and shoved Finch’s hand away. Harry chanced sneaking closer.

“I need —” Malfoy cut off abruptly at the sound of Harry’s foot stepping on a scrap piece of wood. Harry froze, berating himself mentally for making such a rookie mistake. Malfoy’s eyes scanned over the alley, looking directly at the spot where Harry was. He shook his head and glared at Finch. “I’ll send word by owl with the necessary niceties. Be prepared to cooperate, I don’t want to have to hunt you down and drag your arse into the Ministry for this. Understood?”

Malfoy’s voice took on an eerily cold, vicious quality as he spoke. Finch nodded before he turned away to disappear into the shadows. Malfoy’s eyes swept over Harry again before making a frustrated noise and Disapparated away.

“Shit,” Harry cursed, kicking at the wall in frustration. He needed to take his investigation further, he decided after he calmed his temper. He rubbed at his jaw, debating his options.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. His best bet was to break into Malfoy’s house to find out exactly what he was up to.

*******

Despite his quick decision on the matter, it still took Harry a week to work up the courage to actually break into Malfoy’s wards. Harry had wrestled himself mentally all week over whether or not to go through with it. If he got caught it would cause him a world of trouble, and Malfoy wouldn’t pull his punches. He knew Malfoy would use the full extent of the law so Harry would face the consequences of his actions, no matter who he was. In the end, his gut instinct and curiosity won out.

Harry beat Malfoy back to his townhouse in Chelsea. He secured his Invisibility Cloak tighter around his shoulders, not wanting to chance the Disillusionment Charm without other distractions to divert attention. Harry whipped out his wand and immediately got to work untangling Malfoy’s wards. He snorted to himself; of course Malfoy would be the bloody paranoid type to use barely legal wards on top of the standard Auror recommended security ones. He was briefly grateful for the experience his previous case gave him brushing up on dismantling wards when he was able to break through in less than fifteen minutes.

Once inside, Harry carefully reset the wards and spelled away his magical signature so Malfoy wouldn’t suspect anything. Harry settled himself in a corner of the entrance hallway. He didn’t have to wait long before the wards flashed and allowed Malfoy entrance into his home.

Malfoy paused for a moment to remove his wool coat and scarf, hanging both up on a hook near the door. He was humming an off-key tone to himself as he rifled absently through his Muggle post. His owl post was sitting in a bowl on a table next to the coat hook. Harry followed slowly as Malfoy made his way down the hall into a spacious kitchen. It was strange to see him in the privacy of his home. He seemed more relaxed and at peace here. Harry was surprised to see just how Muggle Malfoy’s house was — there was an espresso machine and a state of the art refrigerator.

Harry resisted the urge to grind his teeth after an hour of watching Malfoy make himself a simple dinner and putter around his home. The novelty of seeing Malfoy in his element wore off quickly. Harry thought he was a bit mad; he would pause every so often, tilting his head and glancing into thin air. The second time he had done it he was staring just to the left of where Harry stood under the Cloak. Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his shoulders tensing. Whatever he was thinking he seemed to get over it rather quickly, his tension draining out of him in exchange for self-satisfied smirks. Harry wished he were better at Legilimency, just to know what was going on in the man’s head.

Finally, Malfoy settled on the sofa in the sitting room in front of the telly. He was still smirking to himself at odd intervals while he watched a cooking programme.

Harry was wholly unprepared when Malfoy’s smirk curled into a devious smile as he scooted further down into the cushions, getting more comfortable. Malfoy glanced in the general direction of where Harry was hidden as his long fingers started brushing over his chest. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he watched Malfoy sigh, stroking in slow, meandering patterns. It made Harry’s own skin sprout phantom goosebumps. Harry shifted his weight, glancing around the room when Malfoy’s fingers slipped under his shirt to caress his bare skin. He bit his lip. Part of him wanted to see more of that milky skin that had been haunting his dreams.

Malfoy made a pleasant hum as he tweaked a nipple beneath the fabric of his shirt. Suddenly he leaned up to strip off the shirt, letting it rumple to the ground in a forgotten heap as he leaned back against the sofa. Harry’s mouth went dry at the sight of the bare chest on display, dusted with pale blond hair that led down in a tantalising trail below the waistband of Malfoy’s trousers. He looked on helplessly as Malfoy continued to pinch and tease his nipples until they were hard nubs flushed with colour from his ministrations. His nails scraped lightly across his chest, leaving four faint red lines in their wake that slowly faded. Harry’s own fingers twitched. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he was suddenly short of breath.

Malfoy bit his lip to contain his grin before flicking open his trousers. Harry’s breath hitched, his eyes fixed on the fingers dipping into the open flies only momentarily before Malfoy went back to stroking his nipples. Slowly, so tantalisingly slow that Harry nearly stepped forward to help, Malfoy wriggled his hips until the trousers were pooled on the floor with the forgotten shirt. Harry felt his face heat at the sight of Malfoy on his sofa in just his pants, with long, pale legs sprawled out. Malfoy was half hard, his pants doing little to hide the semi-erect ridge of his cock. Another smirk tugged at his lips before he picked up his wand and murmured under his breath, too quiet for Harry to hear.

A drawer in the side table next to the sofa rattled once before it opened smoothly, a jar of lube levitating and landing on the cushion next to Malfoy. Harry gulped and tried to get his breathing under control. His mind raced wildly, both in excitement and horror over the prospect of watching Malfoy wank, embarrassed to witness such a private act without Malfoy’s consent. _Fuck_ , Harry thought, _Malfoy has no idea that I’m in here — I shouldn’t even_ be _here. If he finds out, he’s going to get me fired._

Harry’s thoughts went completely blank, his head only filled with white noise as Malfoy shucked his pants unceremoniously. He had to swallow twice to wet his dry throat. His eyes were glued to Malfoy’s flushed, hard cock. Malfoy’s nimble fingers circled it lazily, familiarly, as he shifted to get more comfortable. Harry couldn’t believe he had broken in to learn more about Malfoy’s sinister habits, only to end up finding out exactly what he looked like when he wanked. He wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans, resolutely ignoring his own erection that was demanding his attention.

Malfoy started off stroking himself in slow, teasing strokes while his other hand caressed the skin of his inner thigh. He gave his balls a cursory squeeze before suddenly spreading his legs wide, hooking one heel up on the cushion and putting himself on full display. Harry nearly bit through his lip trying to hold in a groan when he saw Malfoy’s furled hole peeking out at him. He clenched his hands into fists. Malfoy leaned his head back as his fingers skated down the skin behind his balls, circling his hole. He gave himself one firm squeeze, his breath hitching in what Harry assumed was excited anticipation. He paused for a moment to open the jar and dip his fingers in the oily substance. With his eyes half-lidded and leering in Harry’s general direction, he circled his rim twice before sinking a finger in to the second knuckle with a deep inhale. Malfoy let lose a quiet whimper as he worked the finger in and out of himself, building his rhythm. Harry bit his tongue to hold back his own answering sound, his eyes riveted on Malfoy’s slick finger plunging in and out of his hole. He watched, fascinated, as Malfoy clenched around his finger and groaned.

“Fuck, yes,” he muttered to himself, pressing and holding his finger deep in his hole while his hips undulated. Harry guessed that he was rubbing against his prostate. Harry’s cock throbbed at the pleasantly tortured sound Malfoy made when he added a second finger alongside the first, working himself agonisingly slow until he was enthusiastically pumping his fingers and bucking his hips. His other hand gripped the base of his cock tightly while his fingers massaged his prostate. “Merlin — fuck, _yesyesyes_.”

Harry couldn’t help but let out a quiet moan as he fought with himself to contain his urge to rush forward to touch Malfoy, help him towards his orgasm, or keep himself from wanking over the show Malfoy was unknowingly putting on. Malfoy made the most tempting sight; sweat glistening on his brow and his head flung back against the sofa in ecstasy while he fucked himself on his fingers and staved off his orgasm. It made Harry’s mouth water — made him want to sink to his knees and taste Malfoy’s cock, suck him dry of his come until he could do nothing but collapse. His cock, trapped in the confines of his jeans, was throbbing in time with Malfoy’s fingers as they pumped in and out, twisting and stretching his hole until it was loose, fluttering and begging to be filled up by Harry’s thick cock. Harry was desperate to rip his clothes off, pull Malfoy’s fingers away, and fuck him into next week.

“ _Po—_!” Malfoy’s unintelligible strangled cry was cut off as his fist began to fly over his cock in time with his fingers. He made one high-pitched ragged keening sound before his cock twitched and spurted in his hand. Malfoy’s come shot out in thick globs, landing on his stomach, and his hole clenched around his glistening fingers. “Ah!”

Harry was rooted to the spot, achingly hard, as he watched Malfoy’s chest heave with each pant. He gently removed his fingers, his open hole fluttering and still begging Harry to fill it with his cock. Malfoy fumbled for his wand with a shaking hand, murmuring _Scourgify_ on an exhale of breath. He sat sprawled on the sofa until he caught his breath, looking like he was about to fall asleep. The open vulnerability on his face made something thaw in Harry’s heart. He wanted to reach out and brush the loose lock of hair from Malfoy’s forehead.

Harry took a hasty step back, realising how close he’d gotten to the sofa. Malfoy heaved himself up and bent to pick up his clothes. He had a secret smile on his face. He snorted to himself before leaving the room. Harry trailed behind him, still ignoring the demand of his erection, and watched from the hallway as Malfoy fell into bed without bothering to get dressed.

As soon as Harry was sure that Malfoy had fallen asleep he escaped to the sanctuary of his own bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

He barely managed to wait three seconds before he was tossing his wand on the bed, ripping the button on his jeans open, and pulling out his cock with a relieved, desperate groan. He couldn’t pretend to ignore the way Malfoy looked when he came this time — didn’t even try to. Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to care that he was wanking over Malfoy. He gave himself over completely to the feeling of his hand stroking his cock. Harry was well past being able to draw it out and tease himself the way Malfoy had done. He worked himself in quick, hard pulls. He felt his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, his balls drawing up tightly. He massaged them desperately with his other hand. The memory of the sounds Malfoy made when he came was fresh in the forefront of his mind. Harry squeezed his cock and fell over the edge, groaning as his come spurted over his hand and onto the floor. He slowed his strokes, squeezing himself through his orgasm until he was done.

He sat heavily on the bed and heaved a great sigh.

*******

Draco was intrigued, and surprised, that his little show didn’t immediately send Potter running the opposite direction in fear. As he made himself toast and tea for breakfast he leaned one hip against the countertop, musing that perhaps Potter didn’t think he could be sneaky enough to escape unnoticed while Draco was _distracted_. He sipped his tea slowly, reflecting on his wank session with a smile. He had known Potter was there by the smell of him — the same smell that taunted him when they both leaned too close over the same file in the office. At first he was royally pissed off, but after he made dinner his anger simmered down. He had decided that if Potter wanted to stalk him, then he might as well put on a show. Three separate times Draco almost spun around to shout at the thin air where he suspected Potter to be standing. He finally settled himself in front of the television, struck with the idea — and the need — for a good, thorough wank. He was good at it, knew exactly how to tease himself and keep himself teetering on the edge of orgasm. But, Merlin, then Potter had moaned while he watched Draco pleasuring himself. Draco entertained the fantasy of Potter scraping together the balls to join in after he heard that moan. He had come hard with that thought in his mind.

Draco took his time buttering his toast before taking a bite, chewing slowly. He shivered at the memory of his fantasy. _If Potter doesn’t stop with his nonsense obsession with following me, before he takes it too far like the last time, well, then now I have leverage that could get Potter suspended or fired_ , he thought unkindly. He could at least use it to get himself a promotion, perhaps. He idly ran a hand over his chest where there had once been angry scars at the hands of Potter. He made friends with a Healer in France who was a visionary. Now he no longer had the physical proof that Potter had nearly killed him. Draco shook the dark memory from his thoughts. He waved his wand to clean up the remains of his breakfast.

Another thought occurred to Draco as he was putting on his coat. If Potter didn’t run away, and instead he stood there moaning while Draco wanked in front of him, then perhaps he should try to up the ante of his little game. His mouth slowly spread into a predatory smile.

*******

Draco decided to start off slowly with his new plan, waiting two days before he even tried anything. He worked up to his goal by thawing his clinical, barely polite demeanour around Potter. He aimed for being friendlier before he started touching Potter casually.

“I’ve already spoken to Obliviator Bulstrode about this latest incident,” Pansy said from her perch on the arm of the leather sofa in the office. They were in the middle of another team meeting. She held up her report notes for Longbottom to take. “Apparently, this latest batch made the user believe that she would be able to obtain money she was owed for War Reparations. Unfortunately, she tried to extract that money from a Muggle banking establishment. The Elixir gave her the ability to magically excavate the vault.”

“I don’t know what she could possibly plan to do with that much Muggle money,” Longbottom commented. “According to her custody statement she’s pushing a hundred and twenty. She lives alone in Cornwall with her Crup, and says she only came to London to pick up her quarterly supplies from the apothecary. Here, Harry, what do you make of this?“

Potter accepted the field report, skimming it with a small frown. “She mentions talking to a man who promised her a way to take away her aches and pains.”

“Can I see that?” Draco asked. When Potter handed over the file, Draco made sure their hands brushed. Potter paused, eyeing him suspiciously. Draco waited a beat, then smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He paced in front of the case board as he read the description given by the frail old witch the Aurors had in custody. _Bright blue eyes...dark brown hair…late thirties._ Draco hummed and spun around to face Potter again. “I think she’s describing Henry Richter. Slippery arsehole has been charming little old ladies out of their purses for the better part of the last three years, right?”

“Among other charges we can’t seem to make stick.” Potter grimaced, running a hand through his unruly hair.

Suddenly, a small part of Draco wished he could have seen Potter’s face moaning when he had broken into Draco’s house. He bit his lip and focused his attention on the meeting again, hoping he looked eager to catch criminals instead of fantasizing about how best to make Potter moan again.

Potter’s intense stare bore into Draco’s eyes for several heartbeats. Finally, he asked, “Have you ever come across Richter in your potions contacts for other cases?”

 _Shit_ , Draco thought. He knew he had heard a suspicious noise when he was shaking down Finch in Wending Circle. Potter couldn’t do anything about what he thought he saw without giving himself away. Draco plastered on his best helpful, sincere smile. “Yes, once or twice,” he replied evenly. “Would you and Longbottom like me to reach out to set up a meeting? Will you be sending an Auror team to swoop in and apprehend him before he absconds off again?”

He could hear Potter’s teeth grinding together from two feet away.

“That’s a good plan, then we’ll be able to question him in relation to the Exaltation Elixir,” Longbottom cut in before Potter could respond. “Leeds, you and your partner can head this one up.”

“I’ll run point as backup,” Potter said. Draco handed back the report and brushed his fingers against Potter’s again, earning another calculating look.

Draco continued to be increasingly friendlier with Potter all week. He graduated from brushing their fingers together to gently putting a hand on Potter’s shoulder when he stared at the case board. The first time he did it Potter tensed and eyed him warily. It only took a few more times before Potter stopped tensing. By Friday he worked himself up to squeezing Potter’s arm when they hit another block in the case after Richter slipped away.

“We’ll solve this,” he murmured quietly. The office was empty apart from the pair of them so late at night on a Friday. Potter rubbed tiredly at his eyes, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead.

“Yeah,” he muttered in reply. If Draco hadn’t been looking for any hint of a reaction he might have missed it, but Potter leaned imperceptibly closer to him. A thrill went through Draco’s stomach at his success.

Then, by the beginning of November, it was like a flipped switch. After Potter got used to a couple weeks of casual touching, he began to eat it up whenever Draco was friendly to him. He seemed like a man starved of attention anytime Draco touched him, which was just ridiculous because he was the most loved man in the wizarding world. Yet, Draco couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Having Potter’s attention, hungry for contact, was overwhelming to him. His shift in dealing with Potter led to the basis of their very tentative friendship, once Potter stopped eyeing him warily like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Potter even started to carefully and slowly touch Draco back, once his suspicions began falling away. He touched Draco like he was afraid Draco might sting him and run away.

“You’re so tense all of the time, Potter,” Draco commented. They were in the office by themselves again, choosing to take lunch there while the rest of the team was out. He brought both of his hands to Potter’s shoulders and squeezed them in a mock massage. “Lighten up, would you? You’re giving me a muscle cramp just looking at you.”

“I’ll loosen up if you give that massage a sporting try, maybe.” Potter’s eyes glinted with mirth. It stole Draco’s breath away for a moment. He smirked, leaning close to Potter’s ear.

“You wouldn’t want me to do that,” he murmured softly. He took great pleasure in watching Potter shiver.

“And why is that?”

“People become my indebted slaves when I give them shoulder rubs,” he said solemnly. Potter snorted, shaking his head. “And when I give them a full back massage they fall in love with me.”

“Is that so?” Potter asked. Draco nodded gravely.

“It’s a cruel cross to bear, Potter, but I manage,” he said with a winsome smile, fluttering his eyelashes like a besotted maid. Potter laughed, giving his shoulder a friendly, light punch.

“You’re such a prat. Which, I’d like to remind you, I’ve been saying for the last thirteen years,” Potter jibed with none of the sanctimonious animosity that Draco had become accustomed to.

“Well, if I’m a prat then you’re a tosser,” Draco countered with a determined expression, despite his mediocre retort. “Have been since I’ve known you.”

“Come off it, you barely know me after all these years. And no — the unauthorised biographies and the trite published in the _Prophet_ do not count! Everyone who really _knows_ me loves me,” Potter said. Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. After a moment of their friendly ribbing he grew serious.

“No, but maybe I’d like to. Know you, that is,” he said quietly, struck by the old truth that rung true in his heart. He wanted to jeer at himself for being such a twat, still sore over a denial of friendship between eleven year olds. Here he was, jumping for the first chance he got at it.

“Maybe it’s time I got to know the real you, too,” Potter said, breaking Draco out of his thoughts. When Draco met his eyes, he was smiling at him. Potter reached out and squeezed Draco’s arm.

*******

Despite their admissions to each other in the quiet stillness of Potter’s office, it took Draco a few days to do anything about it. In secret he hoped Potter might save him the trouble. He caught him by the elbow on their way through the Atrium.

“Hello,” he greeted. “Heading to lunch? Why don’t we go together?”

“Yeah, alright,” Potter agreed easily. His eyes unsubtly tracked over his Muggle attire. “I was just going to get something from the canteen today.”

“The canteen? No, we can’t eat there. Their tea is absolute gutter swill, you uncultured twat,” Draco argued. “There’s a great place I know in Muggle London. Put on that motorbike jacket of yours. It’s cold out there. Come along.”

He easily steered Potter towards the street level exit with his hand still tucked into the crook of Potter’s arm. Potter was smiling ruefully at him.

“Careful, people might think you’re kidnapping me.” Potter poked a finger into Draco’s side.

“That’s tosh,” he said, tucking his hand more securely. “You’re clearly escorting me. They’ll think you’re nothing less than a proper gentleman.”

Draco took Potter to his favourite pub for lunch. Potter’s eyebrows shot up as soon as they stepped inside.

“Draco _Malfoy_ eats at pubs for lunch like the rest of us plebeians? What is the world coming to?” Potter’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and mock shock. He even laid a hand over his chest like he was scandalised.

Draco snorted inelegantly as he made his way to the bar to order. “Herein begins your lessons on getting to know me better. Lesson one: this pub has the best chips in all of London — trust me, I’ve checked.”

He greeted the familiar server behind the bar, ordering his favourite fare from the menu. Potter picked up their ciders and led them to a cosy booth. He looked around with a curious gaze.

“I like this. I like the thought of you coming here,” he commented. Draco smiled into his cider.

“Like I said, best chips in London.”

“I just never pictured you interacting with any of Muggle London in person, I suppose,” Potter said slowly. Draco nearly smirked. _Trust you, Potter, to still poke your suspicious nose about in a friendly conversation so you can look for answers. As if you haven’t followed me all over the city at this point._

“I’m not the same person I was when I was younger,” he said. “After I earned my Mastery in Potions the French Ministry hired me on as a consultant. They work much more integrated with their Muggle counterparts, and I suppose that exposure opened up a new world for me.” Draco examined his nails without looking up. “I even live in a Muggle neighbourhood,” he added slyly as an afterthought, knowing full well that Potter knew where he lived. Potter made a noncommittal sound, sipping his cider.

Their food arrived quickly and they both tucked in. Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression blank at the pleased sounds Potter made while eating his shepherd’s pie.

“So, you listen to the Beatles and you eat chips in Muggle London. What else don’t I know about this newly established, adult version of the person I went to school with?” Potter asked, washing down his food with a gulp of cider.

“The world, I imagine,” Draco said cryptically. He picked up another vinegar-soaked chip and ate it, chewing thoughtfully. He debated bringing up the cinema, knowing that Potter already knew about his habits. He went a different route, instead. “Am I to believe you are the same person you were at Hogwarts? Nothing of your environment has changed you as you’ve grown into an adult?”

“Well, I guess,” Potter said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t know, I still like to play pick-up games of Quidditch on the weekends, I spend time with my friends, and I enjoy my job. Some people might argue that I still charge in head first without thinking,” he added with a shrug. Draco grinned, leaning forward on his elbows. Their fingers were just barely touching on the table.

“No, I suppose you aren’t likely to grow out of that habit, are you?” Draco observed the way Potter’s ears flushed. Potter ducked his head and stroked one finger over Draco’s hand, tracing his knuckles. His green eyes were intense, and Draco realised belatedly that Potter was stroking the fingers he had fucked himself with. He bit his lip to keep the feral grin from showing.

On impulse Draco swiped Potter’s spoon to scoop up a bit of potato mash from his plate. He took his time curling his tongue around the spoon, sure to make a sound that bordered on obscene as he sucked on the spoon. Potter’s heated gaze was locked on Draco’s mouth.

“That’s quite good, I’ve never tried shepherd’s pie,” he said. Potter’s mouth opened and closed for a moment, looking like a funny fish, before he regained control of his faculties. A devious look flitted across his face that made a bolt of arousal steal up Draco’s spine.

“Well, then you should have a proper taste, not just nibble on the mash,” he challenged. Potter scooped up a fair bite onto his spoon, carefully balancing it just outside of Draco’s reach so that he needed to stretch across the table to accept it as Potter fed him the bite. Potter’s eyes bore into his as his lips closed around the spoon again. His tongue darted out to lick the drop of wayward gravy from his lip. Potter’s eyes tracked the movement, his own tongue mirroring it. “Good?” Potter’s tone went deeper.

“Yes,” Draco answered. “Quite good.”

The rest of their lunch passed in a similar fashion, with friendly conversation sprinkled with innuendos as they got to know each other. Draco never expected that Potter flirting back with him would feel so good. It took his mind off of the game he was playing. They met up for lunch together in the same pub twice more that week.

By mid-November Draco reflected how much his world changed in just several short weeks of being friendly and flirting with someone.

Draco found himself drowning in a near-addiction to Potter’s affectionate attention.

*******

Harry still felt a niggling guilt over suspecting Malfoy of foul play and plotting as he got to know him better. He was surprised and intrigued by how funny Malfoy was; he had a quick wit that had made Harry’s sides hurt from laughing so hard. Their growing flirtation and verbal sparring brought a whole new dynamic to their interactions compared to how they had been before. He even found himself looking forward to seeing Malfoy around the DMLE offices, seeking out his friendly touches like he was on a treasure hunt for prized jewels.

More often than not it seemed Malfoy was always in the office with him late at night. They worked together, sometimes talking and sometimes enjoying the companionable silence. Malfoy was adding new notes to the case board on the basic breakdown of ingredients that could be combined to create the Exaltation Elixir. Harry’s hand brushed against Malfoy’s lower back boldly as he squeezed by to get closer to the case board. Their eyes met briefly. Harry swore Malfoy’s grey eyes flicked down to stare at Harry’s lips for a moment before he moved away.

“We should grab some takeaway if we’re both going to be here longer,” Harry said. Malfoy was facing away from him, leaning over files spread out on Harry’s desk. He hummed in agreement without turning around. Harry moved over to stand beside Malfoy, placing his hand down on the desk so that their fingers just barely brushed together. “Think you’re man enough to try some curry this time? I promise to even get you something mild, so it won’t ruin your delicate constitution.”

Harry bumped his shoulder against Malfoy’s. His eyes were warm and bright when they turned on Harry. Harry was beginning to really enjoy the slow way Malfoy’s smile spread across his face. “I’m man enough for a lot of things, Potter.”

Malfoy eyed Harry up and down in a way that made Harry’s skin prickle with heat. Whatever was growing between them kept pulling tighter; Harry thought it was going to snap quite soon.

Harry opened his mouth to say something equally suggestive, only to be interrupted by the arrival of a Ministry memo. The paper plane looped twice in the air before coming to a stop, hovering in front of Harry. He plucked it out of the air, unfolding it.

“I’ve got to go, Kingsley needs to see me about the case,” Harry sighed. “Can we do takeaway another night?”

“Sure thing, Potter. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Malfoy collected his files, depositing them into his leather satchel. He nodded at Harry, squeezing his arm before leaving.

Harry went to Kingsley’s office with his mind still on the prospect of Indian takeaway with Malfoy.

“You’re here late, sir,” Harry said when he walked in. Kingsley waved him over and Harry took a seat.

“Harry, I need an update on your current case,” Kingsley said without preamble. Whenever he was like that Harry knew it was a serious matter. He sat up straighter.

“We are working several leads, but have nothing concrete enough for arrests, yet,” Harry said.

“I need you to close this one quickly, Harry,” Kingsley said gravely. “The _Daily Prophet_ is putting out an expose on the potion, and the incompetence of the Aurors for not handling the problem quickly enough.”

Kingsley leaned back heavily in his chair.

“We’re working on it, sir,” Harry said earnestly.

“Get it done as quick as you can.”

“Okay. Of course, sir.” Harry rubbed his jaw. He stood and left for the night.

*******

Neville’s face the following morning didn’t bode well for Harry. He opened his mouth to ask, but Neville shook his head. He handed Harry a file folder and sat down at his desk. Harry opened the folder and skimmed the first few lines of the preliminary overview. His stomach dropped like lead, his entire body going cold with the dread that came every time a case involving a minor came along.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered angrily as he read.

_**Victim:** Female, estimated age fifteen to nineteen, Hogwarts Ravenclaw school uniform. **Location:** Diagon Alley behind Flourish and Blotts, first found at half past eight. Time of Death spells confirm victim died in the late hours of the previous night. **Cause of Death:** Overdose of Exaltation Elixir_

Harry dropped the file report onto his desk with a sigh. He scrubbed his hands over his face before turning to face Neville. “Preliminary team have any idea why a teenager that young was taking something like this?”

“They haven’t finished the magical signature report yet, but there was another report that came in from Hogwarts directly from McGonagall just after that one arrived. She thinks someone is selling on the grounds to the upper years under the guise of helping with N.E.W.T.s revising. The other student survived and claimed to be using it for nightmares,” Neville said with a frown. His eyes were clouded over with something that Harry hadn’t seen in him since the war.

“Fuck,” Harry repeated. “That doesn’t bode well for the investigation at all if it’s spreading further than London. Kingsley isn’t going to like this at all, he just had me up in his office last night because of what the _Prophet_ is going to put out soon.”

“We’ll find something,” Neville said in an assuring tone. Neville was always good about being a calming presence when Harry needed to pull back from his anger.

Harry nodded without answering, his eyes unfocused. His gut was niggling to remind him that he had something already — Malfoy.

When Neville left to go to Hogwarts, Harry opened a new file folder. He warded it so that only he would be able to read it or add to it. On the first blank sheet he began to compile the evidence he had gathered on Malfoy’s habits, along with the sneaking around to shady meetings in back alleys. After he was done filling out the file, he reviewed it with a frown. Even though his gut told him Malfoy made sense as a suspect, his new friendship with Malfoy made him feel guilty about pursuing the matter. With a heavy sigh, Harry stuck the file in the bottom drawer of his desk.

*******

Harry put pressure on the investigative team to bring in a suspect they could charge. He knew he was running them all ragged — Leeds avoided him in the halls and Parkinson snapped at him anytime he spoke with her. It wasn’t much different from their typical interactions, but her words were far more biting than usual. Harry rarely saw Neville over the course of the week, and he continued to spend more late nights with Malfoy going over his findings on the potion makeup. His secret file felt like it was glaring at him from the bottom drawer, but Harry ignored it all week.

They were pulling an all-nighter in the office, with their heads bent low together over Malfoy’s notes. Containers of half-eaten takeaway littered Harry’s desk. Their knees bumped together every few minutes when either of them shifted. Harry had spent the last hour trying to focus on the elegant, organized notes in front of him, rather than the press of Malfoy’s thigh against his.

“Can you explain this again? Your shorthand is still confusing me.” Harry pointed to the last section of the page he had re-read four times while imagining how their thighs would feel pressed together without the barrier of clothes.

“Honestly, Potter, I’ve gone over it twice with you already,” Malfoy said in exasperation. His hair was mussed on one side from where he had ran his fingers through it while scribbling out his frantic notes to make connections to the case. “Here, look.” Malfoy took the paper from him. “It’s something I’ve found about the development. It’s similar to the Muggle drug — they call it crystal meth, I think. The potion is varying by the brewer in the same way Muggles put their own spin on their Muggle meth.”

“So, wait, what does that mean for the brewers of the Elixir?” Harry asked, desperately trying to focus. Hearing Malfoy talk about Muggle things made Harry feel a sudden rush of _want_ running through him. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them to himself, worried that he would do something stupid — like reach out and touch Malfoy.

“It _means_ , you half-wit, that there are four different brewers! Out of the last six victims the analysis came back with four different potions makeups,” he explained. Harry found himself leaning closer, his breathing speeding up. He struggled to control it, and not making a complete fucking idiot of himself. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice Harry’s crisis. He was completely focused on his notes, tapping his fingers against his bottom lip. “What I can’t figure out, is whether we have one master brewer and a collective of lesser brewers doing his bidding, or if—mmph?!”

Malfoy’s words were cut off when Harry closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Malfoy’s lips were warm and soft. They tasted like the Pad Thai they had shared. Harry made a sound in the back of his throat when Malfoy’s mouth opened under his, swiping his tongue along Malfoy’s lower lip. Malfoy’s hands rested on Harry’s shoulder and knee, squeezing gently — more so than Harry had expected. He nipped at Malfoy’s lip, dragging his teeth slowly, and relishing the sharp inhale Malfoy took.

Then, suddenly, Malfoy was pressing forward roughly — all but scrambling into Harry’s lap. He pressed the warm length of his body against Harry’s with a moan as his long fingers came up and buried themselves in Harry’s hair. Malfoy tugged hard as they kissed frantically, the intensity rising in a crescendo. They ground against each other as they snogged. Harry’s hands grabbed handfuls of Malfoy’s arse. He tugged Malfoy against him again and again, their harsh breathing the only sound filling his ears. Harry was afraid to separate from Malfoy’s lips, the threat of ceasing to breathe all too real if they stopped kissing. He shoved himself out of the chair, pressing Malfoy’s hips back against the desk in one fluid motion. Malfoy’s fingers gripped his hair tightly as their erections aligned perfectly. Harry groaned, and Malfoy made an answering sound of pleasure as they moved together.

Harry sucked on Malfoy’s tongue, curling his own tongue around it — suggesting what he wanted to do to him. Malfoy melted back against the desk, until Harry was practically bending him backwards over it. Tantalising images of what they could do on the desk flashed through Harry’s head as Malfoy ground their cocks together. Malfoy made a strangled sound as Harry’s hips pinned his to the desk.

Then a Patronus burst into the room, startling them both as it began talking urgently in Neville’s voice.

“Harry — new lead on the case! This one is promising, we’ve found a brewer’s lab that wasn’t registered with the Ministry in an abandoned Underground station.” They both sprang apart, putting distance between them as they panted. Harry focused on Neville’s bobcat Patronus and willed his mind to process anything other than how wonderful Malfoy tasted. “Need you to meet me here to process the scene — I’ve got a load of samples for Malfoy and an eyewitness for Parkinson to interview.”

The Patronus gave an eager hop before it dissipated, leaving a tense stillness behind in the room for several seconds. Harry was still panting as they both fumbled to right their rumpled clothes. He glanced over and watched as Malfoy smoothed down his jumper. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, and discreetly adjusted his erection before smoothing his hair back into place. When Harry made no move to leave Malfoy snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

“Move it, Potter! Crime scenes to process, and potion samples to collect!” Malfoy smirked when Harry ran a hand through his hair, then looked down at the obvious erection pressing against the fly of his jeans. Harry took a deep, calming breath and adjusted himself — his eyes locked with Malfoy’s.

“Right, let’s go. Crime scenes to process, and all that. Do you think you can explain the multiple brewers theory you have one more time on the way there?” Harry asked. Malfoy smirked again, and Harry reminded himself it wasn’t a good idea to press him back against the desk for another snog.

*******

Draco sat at his cubicle in the lab compiling his notes on his personal interest in the Elixir. A steaming cup of Earl Grey from his favourite teashop sat at his elbow. He was making several new contacts around the city to get more information, after the breakthrough in the case a few days prior. The thought of finding the unsanctioned brewing lab brought distracting thoughts. He kept finding his mind wandering back to Potter pinning him against the desk. The ghost of Potter’s lips still lingered, even days later.

Draco brushed his fingertips over his lower lip slowly, letting his thoughts divert him from his work. Kissing Potter had been surprisingly pleasant. Draco found the man attractive, of course, now that he’d filled out and grown into the full potential of his body. But he hadn’t seriously entertained the idea much before, considering Potter’s abhorrent and unprofessional behaviour towards him at the Ministry. _At least not more than a passing fantasy of old school rivalries in the Auror showers_ , Draco thought with a sardonic smile. But that was before Potter had started stalking him — before they’d gotten to know each other better.

If Draco closed his eyes he could imagine he could still taste Potter’s kiss on his lips. He wanted to kiss him again, and wondered if Potter would let him.

*******

Draco decided he needed to get out that evening. He was still feeling distracted and restless, his mind eagerly making up scenarios that involved Potter and his desk. He pulled out a fresh scroll of parchment as soon as he entered his home, and scribbled out a quick note to one of his newer contacts.

_Tonight is acceptable. Meet me in Muggle London, at Hanover Square in Soho. 7PM sharp, don’t be late._

_DM_

He hastily tied his message to his owl’s leg and opened the window, watching as the bird disappeared into the night. Draco stood there for another long moment before shivering at the chill. With a glance at his pocket watch, he decided he had enough time for a shower before he left to catch the Tube to the Oxford Circus Station. He knew Apparating would be quicker, but he needed the long way to clear his mind. He indulged himself with a quick wank in the shower to take the edge off that he couldn’t seem to shake. Draco closed his eyes as the steam curled around him. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock and thrust into the circle of his fist. In his mind he pictured Potter, on his knees, sucking Draco off with the same intensity he carried with him whenever he had his Auror kit on. Draco bit back a faint moan at the thought of those green eyes locked on him while Potter swallowed his cock. He shuddered as he came, leaning back against the tiled shower wall and watching as his release swirled down the drain. He still felt on edge, but the wank had helped.

He selected a well-tailored Muggle suit from his wardrobe, dressing impeccably. After he was ready, he ventured out into the cold night in search of answers. He paused once at the corner, glancing around and trying to sense if Potter was there under the Disillusionment Charm. He hadn’t been following Draco around as closely. Feeling like he was decidedly alone, he left for Soho.

Draco was leaning casually against a lamppost in Hanover Square, looking important, when his contact found him. He nearly snorted at the sight of him; the man was dressed in an embarrassing and obvious ensemble. His behaviour didn’t help, either. He looked so conspicuous that some Muggles were staring at him. He wore a yellow plaid overcoat and a purple bowler hat pulled low over his forehead. Erlstein stared at the ground at Draco’s feet, glancing from side to side at passing Muggles. Draco half expected the idiot to open one side of his overcoat and mutter _I’ve got the goods_ to him.

Biting his lip to keep his laughter from bubbling out of him, Draco gestured to a nearby bench. “Shall we sit, Erlstein? We’ll be out of the way of the shoppers and tourists over here.”

“Yes, Mr Malfoy, righto,” Erlstein said. Draco led them over and took a seat. He nodded to an older Muggle woman who eyed Erlstein with interest, amusement flashing in her eyes.

“Now then, Erlstein, shall we get down to business straight away?” Draco asked. Erlstein looked eager to fling his coat open, and present Draco with the samples of potions he was after. Draco headed him off by placing a firm arm on his hand. “Not so fast. Have a little finesse. I trust your sister is doing well, after I managed to tweak the recipe for her Dragon Pox potions?”

“She is, thank you,” Erlstein said. He seemed to relax, after glancing around one more time. “She didn’t think she would ever find anyone to manage to brew the medicinal potions without the thrushweed seeds in them. Barely anyone has an allergy to ‘em, but they bother her somethin’ awful. She’s very grateful for your help.”

“Mm, I’m glad to hear it,” Draco said with a ghost of a smile. Hearing that his experimental brewing was able to help someone pleased him more than he expected it would. Initially he had only been interested in solving the puzzle of brewing the Dragon Pox cure without one of the main active ingredients. He had been intrigued when Erlstein first contacted him to ask about the potion for his sister. “So now that I’ve helped you, perhaps you’ll be able to help me?” Draco asked in an undertone. He put his hand down, palm up on the bench without looking at Erlstein. “I’d like to study it to help people, rather than harm them.”

“I’ve heard about your mother, Mr Malfoy, there’s no need to beat around the bush,” Erlstein said. Draco tensed, uncomfortable with the idea that people knew of his mother’s descent into madness. What good was his money, if not to get her help, and keep it under wraps that she was ailing? Discreet help was so hard to come by.

“Yes, well. If I’m able to create a safe alternative, then perhaps it will help others, as well.” Draco stared ahead, slowly relaxing when he felt the cool glass of a small bottle being set in his hand. He glanced down and saw the orange, shimmery potion bubbling inside. “Thank you.”

“It’s shrank down, just needs to be resized and put under a stasis. There’s enough in there for a small cauldron — maybe ten large phials’ worth,” Erlstein explained. Draco nodded and curled his hand around the bottle. He slipped it into his pocket, standing up in a fluid movement.

“Goodnight, Erlstein,” Draco said with a tilt of his head. Erlstein tipped his purple bowler hat, and gave Draco a jaunty wave.

The restlessness that Draco felt earlier was gone, replaced by a hopeful excitement. He’d done it. He got his hands on a large enough sample of Exaltation Elixir to work with. He was determined to tinker around with the potion, and solve the mystery of what made it work the way it did. With great promise, he also hoped to finally have something that would help put his mother at ease.

He was completely lost in his thoughts, working through ideas on what he could try first, when he bumped into someone’s solid chest. “ _Oof_ — very sorry, sir, my apologies. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was — oh.”

Draco glanced up from dusting off his coat, right into the face of Harry Potter. He raised an eyebrow, eyes skating over Potter’s motorbike jacket and scarf. He hadn’t felt Potter’s presence lurking around him tonight, he was sure he wasn’t being tailed this time.

“Potter, what a surprise,” he said slowly. “It’s almost like you were… _following_ me.”

“Certainly not,” Potter replied gruffly. He ran a hand through his hair carelessly as he glanced over Draco’s shoulder. He looked like he was fishing for an explanation as to how he managed to be exactly where Draco was. Draco narrowed his eyes as he stared Potter down.

“No, of course not. You were just in the area, right? We just happened on each other — what are the odds?” Draco asked rhetorically. The potion felt heavy in his coat pocket, pressed against his thigh. He needed to distract Potter. He let his eyes rest on Potter’s lips for just a moment too long before he told his brain to shove off. “How lucky we are tonight. What are you doing right now, then?”

“I — er.” Potter started and stopped. He looked around again, his eyes lingering on an old pub. “Nothing, I just like to walk around the city at night sometimes. Helps me think.”

Draco stared at him for another long moment. Potter had obviously been following him, then. He’d done better this time — or Draco had done poorly at figuring it out, with his mind too distracted to notice. If Potter brought up his meeting he would just have to brush it off. He was sure Erlstein was discreet enough when putting the potion in his hand. No one could have seen what they were doing.

“Alright, then let’s get dinner. It’s too cold to be outside, we need a meal to warm us up,” he said.

“Okay,” Potter said. Draco stepped forward, hooking his arm in Potter’s, and steered him to the pub. He took pleasure in pressing close, nuzzling his cheek against Potter’s shoulder under the guise of seeking warmth. Potter didn’t look like he was complaining, his green eyes growing dark and hungry.

Once they were seated and settled with their drinks in a corner booth, Draco leaned forward on his elbows. He tilted his head down and eyed Potter through his lowered lashes with his coyest smile. _Pour on the charm, and the idiot won’t know what hit him. He’ll forget all about what he might have seen in the square_. Predictably, Potter’s eyes dropped to Draco’s mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about the other night, you know,” Draco said. He took a sip of his mulled wine and savoured the spicy warmth on his tongue. Potter’s eyes tracked his every move.

“You have?” Potter asked.

“Indeed. It was quite a surprise. Although, I can’t say I didn’t half expect it at some point — we were, after all, working towards it, weren’t we?”

“I — we were?” Potter asked, looking surprised. Draco smirked into his wine glass.

“Always,” he said. He leaned forward further, nudging his foot against Potter’s and brushing their arms together on the table. “Solving the case is always the goal for the Aurors, isn’t it? Getting a breakthrough was a good thing.”

Potter deflated visibly and Draco had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning in triumph. _So, Potter, you can’t stop thinking about that kiss, eh?_ Potter sighed and met his eyes again. His jaw was set and he looked more determined.

“Yes, the breakthrough was a good thing. I thought you were talking about something else,” he said. He took a healthy gulp of his pint, fingering the beer mat. “With some more luck you’ll be able to lead us to the rest of the brewers through the evidence found in the abandoned lab, right?”

The way Potter said it made Draco stiffen. From Potter’s tone, it sounded suspiciously like Potter was lumping him in with those brewers. Surely the righteous bastard didn’t think he would possibly be a part of the group creating Exaltation Elixir? Draco sniffed disdainfully, curling his fingers tightly around the stem of his glass. _Play it off. You know he has nothing on you, that you’re not involved in this_ , he thought. He took another sip of his wine and made a show of licking his lip to catch a stray drop. He took satisfaction in watching Potter squirm. A wicked part of him wanted to toy with Potter, slip his shoe off and settle his foot right on Potter’s groin. He wanted to rile him up to punish him for suspecting Draco — for not trusting Draco. He pushed those thoughts aside and leaned back against the cushioned booth.

“That sounded like an investigative question, Potter. Surely you don’t need to revert to your prowess as an Auror to find out more about me?” Draco winked. “You know, there is that _other_ thing from the other night that has been occupying my thoughts, too.”

Draco let his eyes roam over Potter’s neck, down to his broad chest, and over his arms in appreciation. He did want those hands on him again. He wanted to feel Potter’s bare chest against his own, feel those callused fingers pressing bruises into his bare hipbones. He shifted his foot to just barely brush the toe of his shoe up Potter’s trouser leg, against his ankle. Potter’s eyes were locked on his lips, and Draco was pleased to see Potter lick his own. There was thinly veiled desire showing in Potter’s eyes.

“You want me,” Draco said bluntly. He caressed Potter’s calf with his foot. He caught Potter’s gaze and silently dared him to deny what was obvious.

“What I want,” Potter said slowly in a low undertone. There was just a hint of an edge to his voice that went straight to Draco’s cock. It made him sit up straighter, all of his attention attuned to Potter. “Is to know exactly what you’re up to.”

“So maybe you should pin me to your desk and snog me again to find the answers you’re looking for,” Draco said cheekily.

“Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll find another way to get what I need from you.” Potter finished off his pint and gave Draco a casual salute. “I’ve got to go, thanks for the drink.”

Potter eyed Draco up and down once before he turned and walked away, leaving Draco wishing he had followed through on his urge to play footsie with Potter’s groin under the table. He huffed out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples. Irritation and resentment roiled in his stomach at the thought of Potter suspecting him of foul play. He flicked a half-hearted glare down at his covered forearm that bore the faded Dark Mark. _Well fuck you, Potter._

He couldn’t decide whether he meant it more as an insult or a wish for something more.

*******

Harry couldn’t shake the niggling gut feeling when he entered the Ministry by Floo the next morning. If Malfoy wasn’t up to something before, he definitely was now. Harry had traced his movements with the tracking spell to find out where Malfoy was. Between the pressure from Kingsley to close the case, the younger victims touched by the addictive potion, and his realisation that the clues fit for Malfoy to be involved, Harry knew he needed to trust his instincts over anything else. It made sense, in his mind, that Malfoy’s skill would easily make him capable of running the ring of brewers.

Harry had remained discreetly hidden while he watched Malfoy meet with a man, who, he was sure, was a wizard. The man was dressed outrageously in the middle of Muggle London. They just sat on the bench in the middle of Hanover Square, which seemed innocuous enough. Harry didn’t plan on getting caught following Malfoy, though. The look on Malfoy’s face was easy enough to decipher — calculation, and his heavy hinting at knowing that Harry was tracking him. Harry had no choice but to go to the pub with him. Wanting another kiss had nothing to do with it at all. It was an opportunity to work a suspect, that was all.

He noticed Parkinson making a beeline for the Ministry canteen and caught up with her.

“Parkinson,” he greeted. She gave him a bored smile, turning back to the line for tea.

“Potter,” she said. Harry quickly counted the five people in line ahead of them — there was just enough time to press her for details.

“Can I buy your tea for you?” he asked, hoping he was being charming enough. Parkinson was shrewd, and naturally suspicious. It was what made her such a great profiler for the department. It had been a long time since he’d tried, or even wanted, to chat up a woman. He felt rusty. The case depended on endearing himself to her for answers, though.

“Chivalry, Potter?” Parkinson raised a sceptical eyebrow. She made a show of thinking it over, examining her lacquered nails. She sighed dramatically, as if his offer pained her. “Very well, if you must. Is there a quota you ex-Gryffindors need to meet every month? Lucky me.”

“We’ve got to get our numbers up,” Harry quipped with a charismatic smile. The line moved slowly as they got closer to the counter where a middle-aged witch was taking orders. “Actually, I wanted to tell you — job well done on the case so far. We wouldn’t be where we are without your profile on the potential suspects.”

“Chivalry _and_ unwarranted praise on my work ethic? Did you lose a bet, or are you just fishing for brownie points?” she asked with a smirk. “Afraid I won’t vote for you for hardest-working-Auror-Inferi of the month?”

“I — something like that, I guess,” Harry answered, feeling flustered. It wasn’t as easy to talk to her as it was when they were only discussing a case. Their working rapport was much different than their social one — or lack thereof. His mind worked quickly to change the subject so that he could ask what he needed before they were at the front of the line. “Actually, I thought of something this morning on my way in. I wanted to run it by you, see what you thought.”

“Go on,” she said, gesturing vaguely. The line shuffled ahead again.

“Do you think the suspect, or suspects maybe — anyway, do you think the people we’re after have ties to the war?” he asked. “I know we’ve looked for connections to the war in the victims, but I was thinking that maybe that’s why the potion development was started in the first place.”

Parkinson gave him a thoughtful look. She took her time answering, so long that another customer went up to the counter and finished their order. He didn’t have much time, and he doubted Parkinson would keep talking to him in the hallway, unless it was in an official investigative capacity. “Could be…” she said slowly, trailing off.

“So, if we look at it that way then we can rule out the younger years below us at Hogwarts. Perhaps we can work that into your profile, start narrowing it down some more,” Harry said. Parkinson made a noncommittal sound. “Whoever our suspect is, they’d have to have a strong knowledge in potions. And for them to brew this potion, something that’s meant to be making the users feel good…maybe they have a more intimate knowledge of the war. Someone on the front lines, as it were.”

Parkinson eyed Harry suspiciously. “Why don’t you enter this suspect profile into the official investigation files, if you’re having breakthroughs like that?”

“It’s preliminary still,” Harry said quickly, silently cursing himself for failing at subtlety. He hoped she didn’t suss out that he meant Malfoy. He would need to figure out the answers he was looking for elsewhere.

After he bought Parkinson’s tea, he made his way to the Auror department on Level Two. It occurred to Harry that perhaps it was time to pull Malfoy’s personnel file, like he’d wanted to before. He paused at the door to his office. _The secondary clearance, though. How am I going to get around that?_ Harry greeted Neville when he pushed open the door. He buried his nose in the user profile notes, hoping to look busy and investigative, while his mind worked around how to get the clearance he needed to read Malfoy’s record and employment files. He was sure he would find answers in those scrolls. They would tell him everything Malfoy had done since the war, starting with his trial.

He discreetly pulled out his secret file he had been working on from its locked drawer. He wanted to add the odd meeting Malfoy went to last night. As he was making new notes in the file, making sure to hunch over it so Neville wouldn’t notice, he toyed with the idea of breaking the wards or faking his clearance somehow to get into the archive files. There was no way Kingsley would grant clearance for Harry to check out Malfoy, not after he’d been reprimanded for it so many times. _I could suggest that the suspect is a Ministry employee, or connected to one, and get clearance that way maybe_ , Harry thought. He pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes, holding two ink-smudged fingers away from his face.

“Morning Longbottom, Potter.” Harry started at the sound of Malfoy’s voice, managing to knock over his inkwell. It made an impressive spill across his desk, soaking into paperwork and splattering a photo of Harry with Ron and Hermione. He frowned as he spelled away the mess.

“Malfoy,” he greeted shortly. Malfoy leaned over Harry’s desk, forcing him to lay his arm across the secret file he was compiling. He couldn’t let Malfoy see the file. He was sure to report Harry for workplace harassment. Malfoy would be the type to flirt and snog him back, only to turn around and get Harry reprimanded for his actions. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” Malfoy replied smartly. He held up his Ministry-issued identification badge. “You see?”

“Hilarious,” Harry deadpanned. “I meant, why are you here in our office?”

“I stopped by to see if you wanted to get lunch with me today,” he answered. Malfoy sat on the edge of Harry’s desk. Harry was sure he positioned himself for the express purpose of making sure Harry could check out his arse. Harry frowned up at Malfoy as he leaned over him. His eyes darted over to Neville, who was politely ignoring them — though Harry could see his eyebrows creeping up on his forehead. Malfoy leaned closer, making Harry start to panic. He wasn’t about to do something like kiss him right here with an audience, was he?

“I can’t today, I need to follow up on… a lead,” he said quickly. He couldn’t very well tell Malfoy to his face that he was the main suspect Harry was pursuing. Malfoy’s eyes flashed in annoyance, and another emotion that Harry couldn’t name. He sat up straight, turning away from Harry.

“Fine, then. Perhaps another time,” Malfoy said as he left the office. Harry leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling while willing his heartbeat back to a normal pace. The thought of Malfoy kissing him like before — right there, with Neville sitting a short distance away, and Malfoy sitting on his desk — made Harry stir with excitement. He rubbed his thigh and absently shifted in his seat, willing his interested cock to behave itself. He couldn’t believe he still wanted to kiss Malfoy while he was investigating him as a suspect. His body was happy to ignore his guilty conscience, eager at the prospect of seeing where another kiss would go if they weren’t interrupted.

When his heart rate was back under control he stared out the charmed window. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by Malfoy’s flashy tactics. He needed to find out what the git had been up to in the intervening years between the war and when he was hired by the Ministry of Magic. He watched as a herd of sheep ran as one large group across the sunny hillside depicted in the window while he decided the best way to get into the Ministry archive.

In the end it took work, but he managed to convince his superiors to allow him to access the archive records so that he could read through personnel files of the DMLE employees. Kingsley and Robards hadn’t been happy about the possibility of a Ministry employee being considered as a suspect, but Harry had been earnest. He managed to convince them that the archives were where he was going to find exactly what he needed to put this potions case to rest.

Harry spent a lot of time over the next two days in the archive looking into exactly what Malfoy had been up to since the war. His scroll wasn’t as thick as some other employees’ were — Harry’s own was quite thick, full of his work with the Aurors since the war — but the missing puzzle pieces were there.

He read through the beginning of the scroll again. Malfoy’s official record started with his arrest into custody. _4 May, 1998_ , the scroll read. From there the old parchment detailed Malfoy’s trial on the first of June that year. The Wizengamot’s scribe described Malfoy as looking pale and sickly. It noted that he was withdrawn, a complete opposite from everything Harry had come to know about his proud personality. He was surprised to learn that Malfoy hadn’t even stood up for himself at his trial to explain that he was under duress. His responses listed during the trial record showed short answers that smacked of humility, of someone who believed he was going to receive the Dementor’s Kiss along with his father. Harry frowned as he skimmed further down. Partway through the trial there was a medical examination from St Mungo’s attached. It detailed some signs of injury while in custody, but a senior Auror signed off to dismiss the matter. The official record deemed the injuries as self-sustained in faded, red ink. Malfoy wasn’t sentenced, which Harry knew. He apparently escaped a sentence in Azkaban under the stipulation that he become a productive member of society. There was a yearly marker next to the paragraph in the scroll with signatures that Harry assumed were confirming Malfoy’s compliance with the demand set by the Wizengamot.

Harry unrolled the scroll further and found Malfoy’s registration of enrolment at an academy in France to study for his Mastery. There was also an application for an international wizard’s visa through the Ministry of Magic. It was still active. Harry learned that Malfoy spent four years studying for his Potions Master certification. His graduation form and Master certificate were attached to the scroll. There was an employment record straight after his graduation. Harry squinted to read the fine print that noted Malfoy being scouted for the French Ministry’s Potions Analyst division with the French Aurors. There were a few commendations in the record from Malfoy’s time in France. There was even a letter of recommendation for transfer attached to Malfoy’s application for the British Ministry.

Harry pulled out the file he was creating on Malfoy and noted that he was employed just over eight months in the DMLE. There was nothing else of note in his employment record since joining the British Ministry.

It was essentially a squeaky clean record, but Harry read between the lines and saw a top education in Potions with a focus on theory and development, a possible motive in his sentence from the Wizengamot, and someone who tried too hard to be a good worker bee for the Ministry.

He sat back in the hard chair with a triumphant grin. “Gotcha!”

Harry left the archive after returning the scroll to the shelf. He was feeling more optimistic about solving the case as he walked in the direction of his office. A hand clamping down on his waist stopped him dead in his tracks. He felt the warmth of someone stepping close behind him, their breath tickling his ear.

“Found you. You haven’t been around all day,” Malfoy murmured. Harry stiffened as Malfoy’s fingers brushed against his belt before moving away. “Are you hungry? I was thinking of ducking out a bit early to get dinner.”

“I, er, probably have a late night tonight,” Harry said, scratching the back of his head. He was sure Malfoy would suspect something if Harry pushed him away outright. “What about tomorrow?”

“Alright, then,” Malfoy said with a dramatic air. He stepped close to Harry again, near enough that Harry caught a strong whiff of his cologne. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He was bombarded by the sense memory of his hands on Malfoy’s hips and inhaling that scent in gasps. “It’s a date.”

“I — what?” Harry sputtered. He took a hasty step away from Malfoy, and hurried down the corridor without waiting for Malfoy to respond.

“See you tomorrow, Potter!” Malfoy called after him. Harry cursed Malfoy’s manipulative nature. He was sure Malfoy knew he was affecting Harry. He continued to come on strong with his double-edged words.

*******

Harry kept Malfoy at a distance for the rest of the week. He made a point of grabbing his lunches with Neville, or staying out in the field when he was on duty. Once he was done for the day he retraced his steps to all of the places he had followed Malfoy to. He tried to connect the person Malfoy was in Muggle London, with his habitual routine, and the person Harry suspected him to really be hiding under his reformed outer shell.

He finally caught a break when he was trailing behind Malfoy at twice the distance as usual, after Malfoy left the expensive teashop he favoured. Malfoy glanced around before seemingly melting into a brick wall. Harry hurried to catch up, following into a quiet, dimly lit side street. He recognised the man from Hanover Square. He was handing over a flagon of shimmery orange potion to Malfoy. He accepted a money pouch from Malfoy and nodded. That was it — Malfoy just bought Exaltation Elixir.

Harry’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive. He whipped his wand from its holster on his thigh, stepping out from the shadows with it trained on Malfoy and his illicit supplier.

“Freeze! Auror department! You’re both under arrest for possession and selling of illegal substances!” Harry said loudly. Both men startled at Harry’s shout. Malfoy’s shocked, wide eyes met Harry’s.

“Potter?! What are you—?” Malfoy began to ask in confusion. Harry flicked his wand so quickly it made a sharp _whoosh_ in the air.

“ _Silencio_. Anything you say can rightfully be used against your defence in front of the Wizengamot. Legal counsel will be provided upon request,” Harry said roughly. Malfoy opened his mouth, likely to shout _barrister_ at him, but Harry ignored him in favour of binding his wrists tightly. “Requests must be made verbally.”

“Auror Potter — I didn’t mean… I just… I don’t —” The older man had on his purple bowler hat again. He looked distraught, wringing his hands and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He eyed Harry as if he were a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt at any sudden movements.

“Mister…?” Harry asked him.

“Erlstein, sir,” he said. “Terrence Erlstein.”

“Mr Erlstein, I need to take you both down to Ministry for holding and questioning. You’re both under arrest. Are you aware that dealing illegal substances is a class two felony in the eyes of the Ministry?” Erlstein gulped audibly as Harry bound his hands in a modified _Incarcerus_ used by the Auror department. “If you are connected to my case in any way, the Aurors are going to put you away in Azkaban for a long time.”

Malfoy looked livid. His face was flushed in anger, his eyes bulging, and his mouth working frantically around his silent words. Harry was sure he would be getting an earful if he didn’t have him under a Silencing Charm at the moment. Malfoy took a menacing step towards him.

“Ah-ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Malfoy. You’ve seen me in the field against perpetrators. I can easily put you down on the ground without breaking a sweat,” he said confidently. Malfoy stopped and raised an eyebrow. He eyed Harry up and down in a leer. Harry glared at him, grabbing Malfoy by the elbow with one hand and securing Erlstein with the other. He Apparated them all directly into the Auror holding cells, letting go of Erlstein and shoving Malfoy ahead of him. “Erlstein, you’ll be questioned and processed shortly. Let’s go, Malfoy.”

Harry tugged him along through the winding corridor and into a questioning room.

“Stay here. I suggest taking a seat. I’ll be back in a moment,” Harry said in a clipped tone. Malfoy sneered at him, turning away to pace the length of the room. Harry quickly cast his Patronus. “Tell Neville I have two suspects in custody. The first one, Erlstein, is in holding cell B and is ready to be processed. I’m questioning the other now.”

With a toss of its head his stag bounded away from him. Harry glanced around and went to a cabinet in the room across the hall. He wrenched open the door, removing a glass bottle with a stopper in it. It was filled with a clear potion. He clenched his hand in a fist around the bottle with determination. He was getting his answers _right now_.

Harry strode back into the questioning room to find Malfoy still pacing. He looked more like an agitated jungle cat, rather than the lithe thing he normally resembled around the office.

“Sit down,” he ordered. Malfoy stood still, stubbornly facing the wall. His shoulders were set in a tense line. “Sit _down_ ,” Harry repeated. Malfoy huffed out an annoyed breath, and sat in the chair gracefully. Malfoy glared at Harry as he clanked the bottle of Veritaserum onto the table. Harry took satisfaction in watching the emotions flit across Malfoy’s face in reaction — disbelief, a hint of fear, and anger all flashed in his grey eyes. Malfoy looked up at Harry coldly, his jaw clenched tightly together. “Don’t make me force you. Stick out your tongue.”

Harry could hear Malfoy swallow. His eyes darted back and forth between the bottle and Harry’s face. He almost looked like he was fighting with himself over whether to silently fight Harry not to give him the potion, and to let his pride win out. Harry strode around the table in three strides. He swiped the bottle off the table and grabbed Malfoy’s jaw, tilting it up. Harry squeezed until Malfoy’s cold eyes met his. They were locked in a stare for the space of several heartbeats before Malfoy slowly opened his mouth. Harry used his teeth to pull the stopper from the bottle. He tipped three drops onto Malfoy’s tongue. Harry let go of his pale jaw none too gently, waiting for the potion to take effect. Harry flicked his wand, ending the Silencing Charm, and summoned his file on Malfoy to the specialised drawer in the corner where Aurors could call up their paperwork without having to carry it around. He smacked the file down with a hard slap onto the table before taking a seat across from Malfoy.

“State your name,” Harry ordered. Malfoy twitched as the potion worked through his system — a tell that he tried to fight against it. “Give in, you know it can’t be fought. I need to establish the baseline.”

“So that you can follow some bastardisation of your Auror procedure? I didn’t give consent for this,” Malfoy spat. He took shallow breaths, glaring at Harry silently for as long as the potion would allow. He managed longer than Harry might have guessed. “Draco Lucius Malfoy,” he said, finally, in a monotone. Malfoy’s voice already sounded hoarse, his throat contracting around his swallows.

“How old are you?” Harry asked as he flipped open the file.

“Twenty four,” Malfoy said, answering faster this time.

“How long have you worked for the Ministry of Magic?”

“Eight months and four days.”

Harry was satisfied that the Veritaserum had taken effect. He knew it was impossible to trick it completely, and even with Malfoy’s skills in potions, Harry didn’t believe he was skilled enough to circumvent his answers that well. He spread out his file in front of Malfoy.

“I’ve always known when you were up to something, you know,” Harry said absently as he finished spreading the paperwork. Malfoy ignored it in favour of staring at the wall over Harry’s shoulder with his jaw clenched tightly. “I knew when we were at Hogwarts, and I knew it now. Draco Malfoy working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? What rubbish.”

“Yes, I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I work as a Potions Analyst,” Malfoy said, answering the rhetorical question. Harry smirked unkindly at him, and Malfoy curled his hand into a fist.

“I’ve been following you for weeks. You’re my prime suspect right now for the head of this brewing ring,” Harry said. Malfoy looked truly hurt for a moment before he concealed his emotions behind an icy mask of disinterest. “I’ve seen you have multiple meetings with unsavoury characters, some of whom are also suspects in this case. I saw you buying Exaltation Elixir tonight.”

“If I was part of the ring, then why was I buying the potion, you _fucking imbecile_?” Malfoy shouted. His icy mask cracked, and it took him a long moment to get his breathing back under control from his outburst. Harry narrowed his eyes as he leaned across the table into Malfoy’s personal space.

“Please, continue to resist. I’m dying to bind you to this table with restraints,” Harry said dangerously. Malfoy smirked at him, the cheeky shit.

“Kinky, Potter. Didn’t think you had it in you,” he ground out through clenched teeth. An unbidden image of a completely different scenario popped into Harry’s mind, with Malfoy naked and tied up, fighting him every step of the way. His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed and looked down at his notes to avoid Malfoy’s smug, knowing look. Even under the influence of Veritaserum he was still the same bastard.

“Won’t they slap your wrist when they find out you’ve dosed me without another Auror present for questioning?” Malfoy asked.

“When a Malfoy is in custody? Not likely,” Harry said coldly. His gut twisted at his words — he wasn’t proud of himself in that moment. Malfoy’s eyes were hard and defiant when he met Harry’s.

“Fuck you,” Malfoy growled.

“Yeah, about that…” Harry said. He shuffled his papers, pulling out a page he had filled with notes on their interactions. “Why did you get close to me and flirt with me? Was it just to distract me from suspecting you?”

Harry watched in satisfaction as Malfoy struggled against the Veritaserum forcing his answer out of him. He looked completely outraged.

“No! I never — augh,” Malfoy’s words were cut off with a strangled gurgle. He’d tried to lie to Harry. Malfoy was panting, his hair hanging limply in his face. The longer he waited to form an answer, the harder the potion was working to force one out of him. It suddenly annoyed Harry that he tried to evade the question.

“I — knew you were following me,” Malfoy said breathlessly, straining with effort against the pull of the Veritaserum. Harry had to admit it was a rather impressive sight. His stomach dropped at hearing that Malfoy _knew_ that Harry was tracking him. “I knew you were in my home… put on that little show for you. It was a game. Not… to distract — _Fuck!_ I… Merlin and Morgana, both — I liked the attention I was getting from you!”

Malfoy surged against his restraints in anger at the answer the potion had wrenched out of him. Harry’s brain sidetracked from his own boiling, righteous rage for a moment to appreciate the beautiful sight of Malfoy flushed and undone, just like he had been when he wanked. Harry’s brain caught back up when he registered Malfoy’s words — he had known Harry broke the wards on his apartment. Shit. He slammed his hand down on the table, the bang echoing in the room.

“Did you just let me kiss you for your game?” he asked roughly. He barely recognised his own voice.

“You are such an idiot, Potter,” Malfoy grunted. He strained against the restraints again, his lithe muscles tensing in effort.

“Stop that, you’re going to wear yourself ragged, and then you’ll really be deep in it. You know if you don’t relax and let the potion work the way it’s supposed to, then you’ll be exhausted enough for me to ask anything and get the most honest answer out of you,” Harry chided. “Now answer the questions.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Merlin, how do you ever solve any cases?” Malfoy asked with a disbelieving laugh. His answer slipped out of him like water when he waited too long to answer. “Nngh — I kissed you because… because I fucking wanted to! Salazar. You seemed to enjoy it at the time,” he growled.

“Well, if you were hoping that just because we’ve snogged, and have been flirting, that I’ll let you get off with creating and distributing an addictive potion, you’re sorely mistaken,” Harry said. His glared at Malfoy, his blood singing in his veins in triumph at the wounded look that flitted across Malfoy’s face. Malfoy shook his head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you,” he muttered. “What about all of my reports that led to breakthroughs on the case?”

“You mean the false leads, and stringing us along with reports while you covered your tracks?” Harry shot back quickly.

“No!” Malfoy spat frustratedly. “You have the wrong person. I didn’t do any of the bollocks you’re trying to accuse me of!”

“But it fits, Malfoy! It fits. There’s your education —” Harry tossed out the Potions Master certificate onto the table “— your sentence from the Wizengamot that essentially forced you to flee to the continent —” another paper was flung down “— and your clean record! It’s _too_ clean! You’re hiding something from the Ministry!”

“What?! Are you fucking _mental_?” Malfoy sputtered angrily. He jerked his chin at all of the evidence Harry had laid on the table and was accusing him with. “Do they really just let you get away with making up stories and arresting whoever you please? This isn’t evidence, and you can’t hold me for this, you wanker!”

“I can, and I will, Malfoy!” Harry shouted. “Why were you buying the potion?”

“I didn’t buy it!”

“Bollocks, Malfoy! I saw you give Erlstein the money bag!” Malfoy growled in frustration at Harry’s accusation. He shook his head back and forth in jerky movements.

“That was for something else, I wasn’t paying for the potion,” he answered breathlessly.

“ _Why were you getting the potion_?” Harry rephrased. Malfoy was hiding it well, but Harry could tell he was beginning to tire himself out from how hard he was fighting against the potion. Soon Harry would be able to get anything out of him. A shiver of excitement ran through him at the prospect. He scolded himself mentally as soon as the thought crossed his mind; he would never take advantage of a suspect that way. It was wrong! And yet, Malfoy always made Harry ignore all of the rules.

“I want to see if I can make it safe!” Malfoy shouted, breaking Harry out of his moral dilemma. If Harry thought Malfoy looked angry before, he was _really_ angry now. He looked apoplectic, his face going nearly purple and a vein throbbing in his temple. He was sitting so tensely that he looked like he might shatter at the lightest of touches. Malfoy was grinding his teeth together, loud enough that Harry could hear it.

“Why do you want to make it safe?” Harry asked urgently. He was getting somewhere. He was going to get Malfoy to admit guilt — he could feel it. Malfoy let out a strangled cry, twisting in his chair. “ _Why_?!”

“My mother!” Malfoy yelled hoarsely. He slumped back in his chair, his chest rising and falling with his panting breaths. He let out a low groan, closing his eyes. “My mother,” he repeated, quieter. “I want to see where the developers went wrong. I want to make it safe,” Malfoy repeated. His voice was growing weary. “I want it to actually do what it’s supposed to without being addictive and dangerous. I didn’t buy Exaltation Elixir, you arsehole. What you saw was a sample of another potion that has similar properties and the same colour. I need it to study how the Elixir went wrong.” Malfoy looked up and locked eyes with Harry. “Have it tested in the lab, if you can spare time for the paperwork. I’m sure you don’t believe me on just my word.” His grey eyes were hard, and cold. “I can’t believe you don’t trust me, after these last several weeks. But you never will, will you? Saint fucking Potter, you can be attracted to me all you want, but you’ll never actually trust someone like me. Well, now I know I can’t trust you either — I can’t believe you forced Veritaserum on me.”

Harry was panting right along with Malfoy by the time he finished speaking. He was about to open his mouth to ask more about Malfoy’s mother — to press further for more answers — but the door banged open so hard it bounced back from the wall. Parkinson and Bulstrode rushed in with wide eyes. Neville came in behind them, looking disappointed in Harry. Parkinson took one look at Malfoy before turning angry eyes on him.

“Potter, what the _fuck_?!” Parkinson strode towards him and slapped him hard across the face with a vicious _CRACK_ that echoed in the room. Pain bloomed across his face, hot and stinging. Bulstrode ended the spell on Malfoy’s restraints, helping him stand on shaking legs that were overexerted. “You fucking moron!”

“Harry, what were you thinking? _Malfoy_? You know you need to have another Auror present for this!” Neville said sharply. “Erlstein consented to a Pensieve questioning. He didn’t have Exaltation Elixir.” Harry flinched at the deeply disappointed tone of his voice. He was struck with the realisation of what he’d done when he saw Bulstrode helping Malfoy drink a glass of conjured water. He felt sick to his stomach. Neville looked guilty for a moment before training his wand on Harry. “Sorry, Harry. Procedure —”

“Which you failed spectacularly at!” Parkinson interrupted shrilly. Neville sighed, holding out his hand for Harry’s wand.

“The Head Auror is on his way down,” Neville said. Harry handed over his wand without a fight, glancing at Malfoy again. He was glaring daggers at Harry that surely would have sliced him to ribbons, if looks could kill.

Robards appeared in the doorway with a grim look on his face. He held out his hand silently, and Neville handed over Harry’s wand.

“This is not the time to be making poor rookie decisions, Auror Potter,” Robards said gruffly. Parkinson scoffed, tossing her head in disbelief. “Go home. You’re suspended for three weeks. Malfoy,” he said as he turned to address him. He was trying to conceal how heavily he was leaning against Bulstrode for support, but Harry could see his legs twitching. “I’m sorry about this. Take a long weekend to rest up and recover.”

Parkinson moved to Malfoy’s other side, putting a hand on his arm. He shook both of the women off of him and strode from the room with his head held high and proud.

Harry was the only one who noticed how much Malfoy’s hands were shaking.

*******

Draco collapsed on the floor as soon as he stepped out of the Floo. It had been hard enough to walk out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement holding his head high, maintaining his wounded pride. He scraped up just enough physical energy to make it to the Atrium without faltering openly. He paused three times on his way there, feigning a bored air to hide the fact that he was leaning heavily against the wall. His entire body felt like it was shutting down from the after effects of fighting so hard with the potion. If anyone had spoken to him he would have blurted the first thoughts that jumped into his mind. There was no way he would have made the Muggle commute home; he couldn’t risk it. He had stumbled into the first available Floo and shouted his home address.

He didn’t even know how long he sat there, crumpled on the ground in front of his fireplace. His muscles were twitching and convulsing. His legs felt like they were cramping up. He ground his teeth together, trying to restrain his anguished cry at the pain lancing through his body. The only thing that rivalled the humiliating pain of coming down from Veritaserum was his anger. He couldn’t believe Potter. His _fucking nerve_ — to arrest him, and put him through that. He was Potter’s bloody colleague!

It felt like a betrayal of the worst kind, far more sinister than a refusal of friendship between children, and all of the other intervening indiscretions against one another. It reminded him more of the time between the end of the war and his trial, when he was treated to Auror brutality at the hands of the Ministry’s finest before he was pardoned. Draco felt completely violated. Potter had pulled answers out of him that no one had a privilege to, not even his closest friends knew some of his secrets. Pansy hadn’t known that he was actively trying to obtain Exaltation Elixir.

More than feeling violated, and betrayed, he was really, truly hurt that Potter apparently didn’t trust him at all. He didn’t believe Draco at his word. He had just blown in like a storm — arrest first, follow procedure later. It left a bitter taste in Draco’s mouth. And to think, he had really been starting to like the git. He didn’t understand how Potter could still only see him as the most boiled down version of his past self. That scared, childish person was someone he didn’t even recognise in himself anymore. Draco had turned his whole life around and grown up. He changed his views on Muggles — he worked alongside the Aurors catching criminals, and upholding justice.

And yet _still_ Potter was quick to believe Draco could have been behind the Exaltation Elixir.

His knees were beginning to ache from being pressed to the hardwood floor for so long. With an uncomfortable grunt he lurched himself closer to his sofa. Gripping onto the arm to lever himself up, he leaned heavily on the furniture for support. He was panting with exertion by the time he was standing, his forehead damp with beads of sweat. What he needed was a drink.

Draco impatiently flicked his wand, watching intently as half the contents of his bar cart levitated towards him in a wobbly fashion, nothing like the precise arc that would normally result from his nonverbal spell. He glared at the bottles as they bobbed towards him at a snail’s pace, as if it was their fault for his exhaustion. He snatched the first thing he could reach — an expensive eighteen-year Scotch — and poured a measure. He sank heavily onto the sofa. He took a deep drink from his glass, savouring the smooth, smoky burn of the alcohol on his tongue.

 _A long weekend at home_. Draco scowled in thought. That was all he was given. He seethed with disgust, his fists clenching until his knuckles were ghostly white. He was forced to endure arrest with unlawful questioning. All he received was a weekend to recover from it, without any other offer of compensation, and a tossed out apology from the Head Auror. Harry Potter, on the other hand, could arrest people at will, flip two fingers up at procedure and a person’s rights, and he got a three-week vacation. Potter had barely received a reprimand. Draco couldn’t believe it when Robards had frowned at Potter like a disappointed teacher, and dithered about _rookie mistakes_. Draco would be half-amused at the situation, if he weren’t so disgusted.

The worst of it all was that Draco couldn’t keep his attraction at bay, even in the face of this betrayal. Though their flirtation started as a game to Draco, he thought it might have been veering into the territory of something real. Now he didn’t know what to believe — whether Potter was playing him, too, just to investigate him — or if he ever cared for Draco at all.

His heart twisted sharply, making him grimace. _Ugh, what a bloody mess_ , he thought. Draco tossed back the rest of his drink, ignoring the fact that it was something meant to be savoured. With a shuddering breath he forced himself to stand on still twitching legs to hobble to his bed. He twirled his wand to levitate the number of liquor bottles along behind him. When he finally reached it, Draco flung himself down gracelessly, falling into a fitful sleep.

He woke several hours later with a pounding headache, and a severely parched mouth. The hangover from Veritaserum was a rough one. He stumbled from the bed, feeling like a newborn gazelle finding his legs for the first time. He smacked his shoulder hard against the doorframe on his way to the bathroom.

“Ow! Bloody buggering bollocks!” Draco clenched his teeth, holding his throbbing shoulder. This was absolutely ridiculous. He trudged into the bathroom, splashing water from a sloppy _Aguamenti_ into the cup on the vanity. He drank it down, gulping and breathing heavily. He drank three more glasses before he felt even remotely closer to being human. A _Tempus_ Charm revealed that it was late. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair hung limply around his face, and his lips were cracking.

“Sod this,” he muttered to the mirror. Draco spun around, and decided that the best way to deal with everything was to drink the weekend away. He grabbed the first bottle he could reach, and unscrewed the cap. He took a swig straight from the bottle, tumbling back into bed.

Draco spent the rest of the night and all of Saturday getting thoroughly sloshed. When he was coherent enough to remember, he stumbled downstairs to raid his kitchen for food. He felt perfectly numb as he fell asleep clutching a nearly empty bottle on Saturday night.

On Sunday, however, he realised what a grave mistake it had been to drown himself in alcohol. His hangover was even worse than when he had woken up Friday night.

“Oh, Merlin,” he groaned, clutching his head and stomach at the same time. He whimpered, curling up into a foetal position in his nest of blankets. “Well, that was a brilliantly stupid idea, Draco.”

He was drifting in and out of sleep, the throbbing pulse in his head growing steadily worse, when he heard the Floo activate. He grumbled as he pressed his face further into his pillow. Someone thudded up the steps to his bedroom and opened the curtains, letting in the weak winter sunlight.

“No- _o_ ,” he complained in a scratchy voice. Draco buried his head in his arms.

“Oh, stop whinging, you great lump. Get up, we’ve come to check on you,” Pansy said. She sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing his greasy hair from his face with her perfectly lacquered nails. Blaise stood over her shoulder smirking down at him. Draco frowned, trying to escape to the safe haven of his arms again. Blaise reached forward. He easily held Draco’s arm away from his head, playing it off by helping him sit up. Like he was some sort of great _mate_.

“Ugh,” Draco said as his body readjusted his centre of gravity.

“I know, darling,” Pansy said soothingly.

“What time s’it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Half past eight,” Pansy said. She held up a bag with the Paul logo on it. “I brought you chocolate scones, and a big cup of English Breakfast to cheer you up. Take a shower, you can have these when you come downstairs.”

“Get off my bed, you cow,” Draco said grumpily, massaging a finger into the corner of his eye socket, desperately trying to abate the pounding ache. “Salazar, I feel like utter shit.”

“Yes, well, drinking your body weight in Glenfiddich and Belvedere will do that to a person,” Blaise said in amusement, picking up the empty bottles around Draco’s bed. “It’s a miracle you’re alive at all, I’d say. Quite the bender you’ve gone on, my friend. At least you have good taste.”

“Piss off,” Draco grunted. He knew he was being uncouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His friends had seen him at much worse than a horrible hangover.

“Come on, Draco. Go shower,” Pansy said, tugging gently at his arm. He winced, remembering vaguely that he had smashed into the doorframe.

“Bloody door,” he muttered darkly. As he eased himself out of bed, he took stock of his body. He could feel even more aches and pains than he remembered going to bed with on Friday. _Must have really done a number on myself_ , he thought with a displeased frown. How childishly dramatic. He sighed as he stripped out of the grimy clothes he had slept in, wincing as he moved. He must have tripped or knocked into his counter to have that many bruises on his hips and knees. His toe felt swollen. He must have stubbed it on the stupid coffee table again. “When I come out, can you heal me up, Blaise?”

“Yes,” Blaise said with a nod. He was grateful at least one of his friends ended up as a Healer. “Off you go, then.”

Blaise swatted his arse as he walked by. Draco didn’t have the energy to tell him off. After his shower he did feel marginally better. He was clean, and dressed in fresh clothes. Pansy handed him a steaming cup of tea, and Blaise was already healing his aching bruises.

“You’ve an owl,” Pansy said absently. She went to the back window to let it in. It was one he didn’t recognise. He summoned a treat for the owl before removing the letter, and small package attached to its leg.

“Here you are,” he said as he tossed the pellet to the owl. He opened the scroll and felt his eyebrows shoot up on his head.

“What is it?” Blaise asked, glancing over Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s from Longbottom. Huh,” Draco said in disbelief. His eyes skimmed the short letter. A few phrases stuck out at him — apologies that his Auror partner made such an egregious mistake, wishing for his wellbeing, and asking after him. Draco didn’t want to admit it, but he felt a stirring in his chest that Longbottom took the time to make the gesture. The bottom of the letter had a postscript. He had sent along an herbal tea blend that he grew himself. _I swear this will help with the after effects of potions like Veritaserum_ , the note read. “He sent me an herbal tea.”

Blaise and Pansy stayed until lunchtime. Their visit helped to cheer Draco up, and get him off of his self-destructive path.

At teatime he brewed some of the tea that Longbottom sent. He did start to feel better after drinking it. The only problem was that without the alcohol to numb him, and the pain of the hangover to focus on, the only thing he was left with were the feelings eating away at him from the inside. Draco had gone more than twenty-four hours without thinking about Potter directly, but that was only with the aid of liquor. For a brief moment he was half tempted to drink himself into a stupor again to dull the pain, and wash away the bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

That night he dreamt of being force-fed Veritaserum. He felt detached from it in his dream, in a strange way feeling almost like he was watching from an outside perspective. Yet, at the same time, he felt the pull of the potion. He was thrashing about and fighting against answering. He was shouting _no_ over and over. Potter barely looked like he did in person, his eyes glowed eerily and his tone was menacing. Draco’s heart pounded with the urgency of fighting against the potion, against Potter’s questions. He couldn’t let him have the satisfaction of the truth. He twisted and curled in on himself. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. Potter was ripping answer after answer from him — everything from his time directly after the war to how much he wanted to bend Potter over and fuck him senseless. Draco was powerless to the pull of the Veritaserum, letting answers break through his clenched teeth. He screamed in his head as each one escaped his lips. Suddenly, in the strange way that dreams jump around, Potter was letting him have what he wanted. Draco felt disoriented as the tables turned. They were in the questioning room. He watched in a bizarre fascination as Potter put on the restraints. He felt himself floating forward, pulling the restraints tight so that Potter was spread across the table. It felt surreal, watching as Potter’s clothes melted away. He took in the sight, the vulnerability of Potter on display for him like that. He licked his lips in anticipation, his hand ghosting over Potter’s arse. He arched into Draco’s touch, responding with a cruel smirk.

“Is that all you’ve got, Malfoy? Don’t hold out on me now,” Potter said in a strange voice that wasn’t his at all. It sounded more like Draco’s voice. Potter stared him down with his eerie glowing eyes. “Make me pay for it.”

Draco surged forward in a rush, though it felt like he was a floating cloud, and grabbed Potter roughly by the hips. He dug his fingers into the skin, feeling all of his hurt and anger coursing through him like a floodgate had been opened. It started out rough at first, with Draco screaming himself hoarse and pinning Potter down on the table. He was pounding into Potter, making each thrust count as punishment for all the times Potter had slighted him. But then, by the end of the dream it somehow shifted into something else entirely. His wild thrusts slowed to rocking pumps of his hips. Potter’s ragged breaths became heartfelt moans, his hips meeting Draco thrust for thrust. Draco draped himself across Potter’s back, kissing the back of his neck. Whatever this had shifted into, it scared him. His heart felt flayed open like a live wire. Nothing could make him part from moulding himself around Potter.

The last thing he remembered dreaming about before waking was a kiss that felt more like a memory than a dream.

He decided as he slowly got out of bed that he needed to distance himself from Potter.

*******

Harry spent his suspension feeling very guilty about the forced use of Veritaserum in his desperation to get some answers out of Malfoy. At first he felt on edge, pacing Grimmauld Place with an energy that he couldn’t shake. The more he went over what happened in his head, the more his guilt ate away at him. He barely recognised the person that he was in that questioning room. It was an ugly version of himself that he didn’t like. It wasn’t like him, and he couldn’t use Malfoy as an excuse for why he blatantly ignored procedure and went ahead with what could be classed as Auror brutality.

Harry grimaced at the thought, his stomach sinking at the memory of his actions. He hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t press charges against him, or the Ministry, for his stunt. He couldn’t believe he had let his head get so wrapped up in his conspiracy theories about Malfoy — that he actually allowed himself to believe Malfoy was really the prime suspect to arrest. He felt absolutely terrible for taking advantage of Malfoy by forcing the Veritaserum on him, without his consent. He was so disgusted with himself that he punched a hole in the wall one night in a fit of anger. He had broken two fingers, much to Hermione’s disappointment. She had come over to heal his hand for him. She shook her head before she left, sighing in exasperation.

Most of all, Malfoy’s answers kept haunting him. The fact that he’d known Harry was following him, and that Harry had broken into his home — Harry was kept up late at night, staring at his ceiling thinking about these things. The fact that Malfoy liked Harry’s attention — that he had kissed Harry back because he wanted to — made Harry toss and turn in agitation, sleep evading him.

He moped around Grimmauld Place for the duration of his suspension. He ignored owls from Neville and Luna. His post was piling up on the kitchen counter. The only thing he opened was the Howler he received from Parkinson. He sat through it with his head hanging as she shrieked at him in new and impressive ways. He even put the memory in his Pensieve and re-watched it twice more to really drive the message home. _You’re an arsehole. A really terrible person. You should be fired for this. I hope Draco sues you for everything you’re worth._

Kreacher grumbled at him whenever he stumbled into the kitchen for tea, still in the pyjamas he had worn for three days straight without showering. Harry had taken to carrying around a box of digestives, which Kreacher treated like Harry’s contraband. He laced his tea with Firewhisky, no matter what time of day it was. The restless energy that he felt at the beginning seeped away into a hopeless depression, and self-isolation. He felt like poor company at the Burrow for Christmas, but his time spent there was the only thing that managed to pull him out of his wallowing and self-flagellation for more than ten minutes. When he returned home the holiday cheer melted away again, leaving him cold and alone.

After Boxing Day Harry spent most of his time drinking the bottle of fancy brandy Percy had given him, and flying any chance he got. It was strange to be out of the house, after so long spent inside. The fresh air nearly hurt his lungs, but he flew until his eyes were stinging and his hands were numb anyway.

On the final weekend before he had to return to work, Neville pounded on his front door, shouting at Harry to pull himself together. He took a step back in shock when Harry opened the door, eyeing Harry’s appearance. His clothes were rumpled, he was unwashed, and he was working on an impressive beard. He refused to shave, even when Kreacher barred all of the doors and came after him with a straight razor while shouting about the cleanliness of his master, which had been truly horrifying. Harry still couldn’t shake the disturbing image from his mind. Neville pushed Harry aside and strode in.

“Honestly, Harry,” he said with a frustrated edge. “This is ridiculous.”

Harry trudged after Neville, following him into the kitchen. With a quick flick of his wand, Neville set the kettle to boil and the tea set to float over.

“You only have a few days left on your suspension, I hope you’ve been thinking over what you’ve done,” Neville said as he helped himself to tea. Harry snorted. It was all he _had_ done. Neville shoved a mug at Harry. He took a deep breath of the steam spiralling out of his mug, letting the heady and soothing aroma wash over him.

“Of course I’ve thought about it. I’m a fucking terrible person,” Harry said in a gravelly voice. He hadn’t really spoken out loud since Hermione had come to heal his hand; even at the Burrow he’d been quiet. His throat was rough from disuse. Neville’s brow furrowed with worry.

“Christ, Harry.” He sipped his tea, thanking Kreacher quietly when the elf crept over to slide a plate of toast onto the table. _Christ, Harry, indeed_ , Harry thought. He shook his head.

“Parkinson sent me a nasty Howler,” he said absently.

“Did she?” Neville asked, snorting. “Good, you deserved it.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. He didn’t mention that he had the memory tucked away in his Pensieve to re-watch again and again. Neville shook his head, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re not really a terrible person, Harry. Merlin, you’re one of the best Aurors at the Ministry,” he said. Harry scoffed in disbelief. “It’s true! And listen, I really like having you as my partner, so I need you to stop all this wallowing shit, and get your head back on right for when you come back to work.”

Harry looked at Neville doubtfully. He gave Harry a stern look that could rival his grandmother’s. It made Harry finally crack a smile.

“See, there. Listen, Harry, you made a mistake — a really bad one, but it was a mistake. Have you apologised to Draco yet?” Harry’s stomach dropped like lead at the question. _Fuck_.

“No,” he muttered. “It didn’t, er, occur to me.”

“Well, now that it’s _occurred_ to you, best get to it, hmm?” Neville patted Harry’s shoulder. Harry rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He realised with a start that he felt grimy. Christ, he was a bloody mess.

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry said.

“Anytime, mate,” Neville answered with a cheerful smile. “See you back at work on Monday? Brilliant.”

When Neville left, Harry dragged himself upstairs. There was only three days left before his suspension was over. His bed was calling to him, despite the early hour of the day, but he braced himself with resolve. He strode into the bathroom, and examined himself in the mirror. He looked like utter shit — with a scraggly, uneven beard that spoke more of poor hygiene than purpose or style. He had deep, purple bags under his eyes. His skin looked sallow, rather than its normal and healthy, warm brown tone.

“Get yourself together, you great sod,” he muttered to his reflection.

“Brush your hair, you look like a street rat!” The mirror scolded. Harry snorted to himself as he began to shave. When he was finished he took a long, hot shower.

*******

On Monday, Harry returned to the Ministry. He greeted familiar faces as he rode the lift to Level Two, feeling much better than he had been throughout the duration of his suspension. It had nothing to do with possibly seeing Malfoy, to apologise to him. Nothing at all.

He paused as soon as he walked into the office he shared with Neville. The room didn’t look all that different, save for Neville’s desk being tidied up. Harry’s still looked like a _Reducto_ Curse had gone off in the middle of his paperwork. Neville sat at his desk with his head bent over the scroll of parchment he was filling out. The two Weather Windows both showed a sunny beach scene in the Mediterranean. The biggest difference Harry noticed was that the board against the far wall was empty.

“Nev, where’s the case board evidence?” Harry asked. Neville glanced up and waved.

“We solved the Exaltation Elixir case last week, Harry. Didn’t you see it in the _Prophet_?” Harry stared at him. Neville had a small ink smudge on his nose. If the case was over, that meant that the rest of the team, namely Malfoy, wouldn’t be checking in with Harry and Neville every day. An odd swirl of emotions ran through him, each vying for dominance in his mind. He felt a niggling disappointment winning out.

“Oh…no. I, er, must have missed it.” Harry thought of the way he had spent the majority of the previous week vacillating between being drunk off his rump, and flying until his cheeks prickled in pain from the icy wind before Neville had come over.

“It was Draco who figured out the clue we needed to make the arrests, actually. We solved the case thanks to him,” Neville said. Harry frowned, the strange ball of mixed emotions coiling tighter in his stomach.

“Well, what have we got now?” Harry asked, sitting down at his desk.

“Spot of illegal creature smuggling.” Neville sent files floating Harry’s way with a wand movement. They worked on the preliminary casework until lunchtime.

Apologising slipped Harry’s mind as he found himself absorbed in the new case. He did see Malfoy leaving for the day in the Atrium, but he noticed Harry and disappeared before Harry could catch up to him.

It was difficult to corner Malfoy without him being needed for Harry’s case, but he managed eventually three days later.

“Malfoy…hey,” he said tentatively. It was just the two of them in the small break room. He hadn’t even been seeking Malfoy out. He was intent on getting a cup, and then more or less chaining himself to his desk to work on his new case. Malfoy glanced at him, but didn’t answer. Harry scuffed his shoe against the floor when he shifted his weight, frowning. _Suppose I deserve that_ , he thought. He knew then — he wouldn’t be getting a snog from Malfoy under the remaining prank sprigs of mistletoe from Wheezes, still leftover from the holiday cheer. Not that he had high hopes on the matter to begin with.

Being alone together in the same room for the first time since the Veritaserum incident was making Harry’s emotions go haywire. Malfoy looked distractingly good. He wore a pale blue waistcoat that made his eyes look striking. Harry went a little weak in the knees just looking at him. He really wanted to just nuzzle his nose into Malfoy’s neck, inhale his cologne — possibly live there forever, and never come out.

Harry had no idea where they stood now. If he had to wager a guess, he knew his odds would not be very high just then. Harry could only hope that they would be able to salvage some semblance of the working relationship they had been developing. Harry hoped beyond hope that, just maybe, they would be able to remain friendly.

“Potter,” Malfoy finally greeted frostily. Harry’s heart sank at his tone.

He was such a fool. He had been telling himself that nonstop for the last three weeks, but reminding himself once more couldn’t hurt.

Malfoy ignored him again in favour of adding milk to the tea he was making. He eyed Harry with a cold, distrustful look as he gave him a wide berth to leave, skirting around the edges of the room. It spoke volumes to Harry. Malfoy wasn’t ready to forgive — rightfully so. He wasn’t ready to even speak to him, let alone repair whatever it was they had between them. Harry mourned over the possibility that he might never get to kiss Malfoy again.

Harry didn’t see Malfoy again for the rest of the week, save for quick flashes of his blond hair turning around corners of the maze-like corridors. He was always hurrying away from wherever Harry was.

When he returned home to Grimmauld Place after his shift, he began to draft a letter. Only, it wasn’t right at all. He tossed it aside and started another, and then another. He wrote several letters, only to crumble each of them when he couldn’t find the right words. He tossed the smashed wads of parchment into the crackling fire, watching as they slowly burned to ash. Feeling despondent, Harry went straight to bed. He would think of something better in the morning.

*******

The following week, Harry needed Malfoy for a short-term consult on another active case. Malfoy seemed to pull away from Harry, keeping him at arm's length. The only time Harry was able to speak more than two words to him was when Malfoy commented on anything relating to the casework. It was driving him mad. Malfoy remained professional, but there was an underlying edge to his voice that was like razor-sharp ice crystals.

Only, when he thought Harry wasn’t looking, Harry caught Malfoy glancing at him with an unreadable, conflicted look in his eyes. Harry believed he could still see the attraction and want there. It made his heart flutter with hope — made him determined to set things right.

With a jolt Harry realised he had never actually gotten around to apologising to Malfoy for his mistake. Harry hadn’t written any more letters to explain himself, or tried to talk to Malfoy about it directly. He decided to start there, with the overdue apology.

Harry tried again to write to Malfoy. He poured everything he could of himself into letter after letter. Anytime he thought of something to say, he jotted it down — sometimes even on his forearm in a messy scrawl, staining his skin with the ink. His letters spoke of moving forward, of laying their old differences to rest. He admitted to feeling an all-encompassing pull towards Malfoy that went beyond simple attraction. He even decided that his first step in moving forward was to move past _Potter_ and _Malfoy_ , training himself to refer to him as Draco.

At first, all of his letters were returned unopened. Harry was frustrated, but not discouraged. _How can I move forward with him if the git won’t even answer his post?_. Harry kept at it like a dog with a bone.

As one week turned into two, and his letters were still being returned unopened, Harry began to feel upset. He realised he missed seeing Draco regularly. He had made up another consult request for a bogus case, and even that short meeting did nothing to abate the need he felt. He missed what they’d had before he had gone and blasted everything to hell.

Without meaning to, Harry found himself wandering aimlessly, only to wind up at Draco’s favourite boutique teashop in Muggle London. He hesitated before going in, spotting Draco sitting down near the window. Gladys didn’t seem to be around at the moment. Draco saw Harry as soon as he walked in the door. His eyes narrowed dangerously as Harry walked over to his table.

“Hi,” Harry greeted. He hovered over the table. He was sure he wasn’t invited to sit down.

“I see you’ve learned absolutely nothing from your suspension,” Draco practically spat. He stirred his tea in angry, jerky movements. Harry clearly had him on edge. “Unsurprising, really.”

“No — I have! I, shit,” Harry said in a rush, running a hand through his hair. “I did. I’m sorry. I didn’t follow you here, I was just walking. I didn’t know you would be here,” he said earnestly. Draco raised an eyebrow dubiously. “I swear,” Harry added. “Can I sit down?”

Draco made no move to invite him, but Harry sat anyway. He caught Draco rolling his eyes out of the corner of his own.

“First of all, I am sorry,” Harry started. Draco snorted, but he pressed on. “I — there are a lot of different ways I worded it, but you sent all of my letters back without reading them. I know I was wrong, and I’m sorry. It was a terrible mistake; one I really wish I could take back. I just…I just,” Harry said, reaching out to put his hand on Draco’s. “I hope you can forgive me. Do you think we will be able to go back to the way things were before I ruined everything?”

Draco stared at him in a stony, icy silence. He snatched his hand away from Harry’s, shoved back roughly from the table, and got up. He glared at Harry, opening his mouth like he was going to say something, only to snap his mouth shut. He shook his head, then left Harry there in the teashop without an answer. Harry sighed, and hung his head.

After that colossal disaster, Draco closed off from him completely. Harry was left to kick himself repeatedly for being such an idiot.

*******

Harry moped around the DMLE when Draco continued to be cold towards him. He felt so stupid, and guilty, for ruining what was beginning to be a nice thing. The only time he saw Draco was from a distance. Without an active case, their paths didn’t cross often in the department. He was even embarrassing himself when he tried to go out of his way to loop around the potions lab, just to get a glimpse of him. Harry’s colleagues were beginning to notice his melancholy mood. Neville cornered him before he left for lunch one day, late in the second week of February.

“Harry,” he said in a way that made Harry feel a bit hunted. Harry hung his leather jacket back on the coat hook.

“Neville…” Harry said slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of pale skin that could be Draco walking by. His attention darted over to the open door.

“Harry, we’re all still a bit worried about you. You’re in a bit of a strop, still, and we’ve all noticed. Luna said you still aren’t answering any of her owls,” Neville said gently. He put a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly. Neville’s eyes narrowed.

“Harry, it’s affecting your work. I had to re-write your report yesterday.” Neville frowned at him. “You would think Malfoy would be the one in a sulk, not you.”

“I’m not sulking!” Harry said sharply. He could feel his ears burning in embarrassment. Sulking was _exactly_ what he was doing. Christ, he was being more than a little pathetic. “I’m going out for lunch today." He didn’t even have the right to be in such a mood. Neville was right, Draco should be the one feeling this way, not Harry. “I’m _fine_ , Neville,” Harry added hurriedly, cutting Neville off when he opened his mouth to speak. “See you later.”

Harry ran straight into Draco when he rushed out of his office, colliding right into his chest. He reached a hand out to steady them both, leaving his hand on Draco’s arm for a moment longer than was necessary. Draco shot him a cool look, shrugging his hand off.

“Sorry,” Harry said. Draco nodded silently, spinning on his heel and making a beeline for the tea trolley coming down the hall. Harry hung back, pretending like he wasn’t watching Draco from the corner of his eye. He fumbled with his wand and his coat pockets intently. Malfoy was conversing with the witch pushing the tea trolley, presumably buying a cup. His eyes darted towards Harry once, quickly, before he turned his back on him. _How am I supposed to get him to talk to me if we can’t even stand in the same hallway for more than two minutes together?_ Harry clenched his jaw in determination. He _would_ get Malfoy to listen to his apology.

He stubbornly refused to give up. Malfoy would know Harry was sorry, even if it nearly killed him. While he was standing there pretending not to stare at Malfoy’s back, Harry got it in his head to follow Draco again. He had to make things right between them. He bit his lip, internally debating how foolish of a plan it was. It was more than likely that Malfoy would know Harry was following him again, if he’d been intelligent enough to suss Harry out before. Draco certainly wouldn’t be happy about it. Harry didn’t see any other option, though. He was desperate to make it clear to Draco how terrible he felt — how he knew what he had done was wrong. Draco wasn’t accepting his letters of apology, and he refused to have anything to do with Harry if it didn’t relate strictly to work while they were at the Ministry.

Making up his mind, Harry discreetly cast a new tracking spell on Draco as he left the tea trolley. If he concentrated, he was able to determine Draco’s movement and location. At the end of the day Harry skulked behind, tracing Draco’s steps. He didn’t make it very far at all before Draco spotted him.

“Potter?! What are you — Merlin, go _away_!” Draco sputtered. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he stepped up to Harry so that they were nearly chest-to-chest. Harry wanted to reach out and grip him by the elbows to keep him there. “Why are you still following me? Trying to see if I do anything else you can twist into another arrest?”

“No!” Harry nearly shouted. “No, I don’t want to arrest you. Christ, Draco,” Harry said with a frown. Draco looked like he was ready to either punch Harry or Disapparate on the spot.

“Then _why_ are you here?” Draco asked, his voice dripping with venom.

“I’m not following you,” Harry repeated stubbornly, lying through his teeth. He could see that Draco didn’t believe that for a second. He started to get frustrated. “I’m just — I just happen to be going wherever you’re on your way to.”

“You are un-fucking-believable, you know that?” Draco asked with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“What can you do to stop me?” Harry asked stubbornly. He knew he was being childish and immature, but he didn’t care. Draco shook his head in disbelief, huffing out a strained laugh.

“Maybe I’ll just go home. Oh _wait_ — you’ve been there, too. Locks, wards, and privacy mean nothing to Harry Potter when he thinks someone is a criminal,” Draco said accusingly, jabbing a finger into Harry’s chest sharply. “I should’ve reported you for that, among other things.”

Shame and guilt twisted in Harry’s gut, but he didn’t let it show on his face. He continued to stare at Draco in determination.

“You aren’t going to just go away, are you?” Draco asked despondently. Harry shook his head, his jaw squared stubbornly. Draco sighed, muttering something under his breath that Harry didn’t catch. “Fine,” he grumbled, spinning on his heel. “Just going where I was, my arse,” Draco muttered. He glanced once at Harry with a devious glint in his eye. “I’ll take you where I was going.”

When they reached the seedy gay bar where that Muggle had sucked Draco’s cock in the alley, Harry paused for a moment. Draco smirked at him when Harry took a breath before following Draco towards the building. It was one thing to go there to see what Draco was up to, but quite another to go in _with_ him.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Potter?” Draco asked with a snort. Harry stuck his chin up gamely. Draco looked Harry up and down with appraising eyes. He snorted again. “You’re getting in over your head.”

Draco ducked into a quiet side alley to transfigure his work clothes into something infinitely more appealing — a tight t-shirt with a deep neckline that exposed his collarbone, and passable black trousers. Harry bit his lip to keep himself from pressing Draco against the wall. He wanted to suck bruises all over Draco’s exposed neck. He wanted to claim Draco as his before they even entered the bar. Draco shot Harry a look, examining his clothes. “Well, at least you have your motorbike jacket. You stand half a chance at pulling with that. That is, if they can look past those atrocious trousers,” Draco said with a mean, feral grin. He spun around and strode towards the bar without waiting to see if Harry would follow.

The room was somewhat full — busier than Harry would have expected at that hour. Harry made a beeline for the bar, feeling like he would need something to help him along if he had to restrain himself from grabbing Draco. He was surprised when Draco didn’t get a drink, choosing instead to immerse himself in the crowd on the dance floor. Harry caught glimpses of his hair as he spun and gyrated in the centre of the floor. He nursed his drink as he watched. It was nearly torture to see Draco running his hands seductively — wantonly — over his throat and up into his hair. His long fingers dipped under the neckline of the shirt teasingly. Once or twice he thought he caught Draco flashing a glance his way, calling to him. Harry was impressed with his own self-control, rooting himself to his bar stool while he sipped his drink. It only took two songs before Draco wrapped himself up in another man. Harry wasn’t all too surprised. Draco did look like he was made for the dance floor. The way he dominated it was captivating. It stung to watch him pressed close, arms wrapped around the other man’s neck as they moved together. Jealousy boiled in the pit of his stomach like acid.

Harry only managed a paltry minute and a half into the song before he was roughly pushing his way through the crowd. Several hands grabbed at him teasingly, tugging on his arms to get Harry to dance with them. Harry shrugged them off, his eyes zeroed in on Draco, and the stranger pawing at him. He caught Draco’s eye over the stranger’s shoulder, their gazes burning into each other. Draco’s eyes flashed with a challenge. When Harry was close enough he managed to cut in, shoving the stranger aside. He wrapped his arm tightly around Draco’s waist.

“Oi, we were dancing, mate, you can’t just —” Harry’s glare cut off the stranger’s protest. The stranger looked between Harry and Draco, shaking his head. “Oh, I see. The possessive boyfriend game. You make him go out and dance with someone so you can come over, and take him back.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Draco protested, struggling in Harry’s iron grip. Harry held on tighter, refusing to let him get away to find another dance partner.

“Sure, mate. Look at the pair of you. I don’t think anyone would believe that you aren’t,” the stranger said with a snort. He left them alone, already dancing up to someone else who caught his eye.

Harry turned to Draco, relaxing his tight grip to tentatively put his hands on Draco’s hips. He struggled to relax enough to be loose, dancing stiffly. Draco moved much too fast for Harry to be able to keep up. He was wound too tightly from the surge of jealousy. When Harry wasn’t able to move fluidly with him, Draco made a frustrated noise and tried to get away again.

“If you can’t dance, Potter, then get off the floor. I came here to dance with someone so I can take them home and fuck them into my mattress. I want to forget you even followed me tonight,” Draco spat. Harry didn’t want that to happen at all. He held Draco’s hips in a strong grip and stared him down.

“Don’t push me away again. I said I was sorry, and I am. I’m sorry, Draco,” he said. He squeezed Draco’s hips once. If he could just hold on to Draco, maybe he wouldn’t float out of his grasp forever. “I really mean it. I swear I’ll never do anything like that again. I was such a fucking idiot. I just want to make it right — make it up to you.”

Draco stared at him silently, unmoving. Harry stared back, his eyes flicking back and forth between Draco’s, holding his gaze. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, still in the middle of the dance floor with people moving all around them while the song went on. Harry silently willed him to believe his apology was sincere. Something flickered in Draco’s eyes that made Harry hold his breath. He slowly relaxed into Harry’s arms.

As the next song started, Draco began to guide Harry to move with him, their bodies melding together as one to move with the music. When Draco’s fingers trailed up around Harry’s neck, into his hair, Harry let his hands wander away from Draco’s hips. He slid them up Draco’s back, pulling their bodies flush together. Harry made a strangled sound in his throat as he held Draco close. His knees nearly gave out when he felt Draco lean in and brush his lips against Harry’s neck. Harry gasped, trying to press their bodies even closer. It was like a dam broke, all of the emotions he was feeling rushing through him at once.

Harry’s hand went to Draco’s hair, gripping it in his fist and pulling Draco’s head to the side. He laved Draco’s neck with open-mouthed kisses, dragging his teeth over Draco’s pulse point. Draco shuddered against him as he nipped and licked up and down his neck. He pressed kisses into the skin just below his ear, earning a faint groan from Draco, breathed into Harry’s ear. Draco reached down to squeeze his arse, kneading it. As the music changed they began to grind against each other, hips gyrating in time with the music. Harry caught a glimpse of Draco’s face — flushed, his hair out of place, and his lips swollen and spit-slicked. He desperately wanted to kiss him, to devour him. He leaned in, intent on tasting those lips once again, but Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck, returning the favour until Harry was achingly hard. He was pressing their erections together insistently as their dance continued. They were practically mauling each other’s necks while they rode each other’s thighs, moans drowned out by the heavy pulse of the music. The friction was enough to keep him teetering, but it wasn’t enough to push him over the edge.

Harry was more turned on than he had ever been in his life. He pulled Draco into the shadows with a heated look. He could feel the beat of the music thumping in time with his heartbeat. Harry wrapped his arms around him tightly, Apparating them to Draco’s townhouse. He spared a brief moment to be pleased that the wards allowed him through. He stumbled away when Draco shoved him roughly.

“What the fuck, Potter?! Someone could have seen!” Draco said in a rush. He turned the lights on, and ran a hand through his hair. In the light Draco looked debauched, and Harry hadn’t even done much of anything to him yet. There were faint bruises already blooming on his neck that sent a thrill through Harry.

“I was discreet,” he said brazenly, not caring at all if he had violated the Statute of Secrecy. He didn’t wait for an answer before crowding Draco against the wall, kissing him like he had been desperate to all night. Draco made a startled sound, gripping Harry’s shirt in his fist. Harry ran his tongue along Draco’s lips, asking — pleading for more. Draco turned his face away when Harry moved to change the angle of his head. Harry nibbled along his jaw, grinning when Draco gasped. He was eager to work bruises down the other side of Draco’s neck to match. His hands teased at the hem of Draco’s shirt, tugging at it insistently. Draco shied away from Harry’s touches. He gripped Harry’s wrists tightly. He shoved Harry away, only to pull him back again a moment later. He held Harry’s jaw in his hands, forcing him to look Draco in the eye.

“If you fuck this up again, then this will be a one time thing,” he warned seriously. Harry nodded frantically, eager to prove himself to Draco. He pressed his whole body against Draco’s so that they were flush from head to toe, close enough to feel their matching heartbeats. Harry felt breathless already. He felt like Draco would consume him whole. Harry tilted his head, slowly asking permission this time. Draco hesitated for a moment before meeting Harry’s lips in a kiss that started off slow and tentative. Then he opened his mouth, nipping at Harry’s lip. Harry groaned, surging closer. He poured everything he had into kissing Draco — telling him without words all of the things he was feeling. Draco made a desperate sound and rose to meet him, pressing just as eagerly into the kiss. Their hands were everywhere, caressing and gripping tightly, like they were each afraid to let go.

“Draco,” Harry breathed against his lips. Draco shuddered, his hands coming up to frame Harry’s face. He kept his eyes closed while Harry stared at him intently, wonderingly. Harry kissed him again, tilting Draco’s head to devour him with his mouth. Their lips and tongues slid together as their hips rocked against each other in sync. Harry made a keening sound, his fingers seeking skin as he slid his hand up Draco’s shirt. His skin was heated, and Harry wanted to explore every inch of it over and over again until he had it memorised. Draco’s breath hitched as his hips surged forward.

“Are we going to fuck, or what?” Draco asked in a husky voice that went straight to Harry’s cock.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, sliding his palm across the warm skin of Draco’s stomach, up to his chest to expose more of his skin. Draco came away from the wall to strip the transfigured shirt off.

“Yes,” he agreed, punctuating it with a filthy kiss. “Fuck,” he repeated, dancing out of Harry’s arms. “Come and get me, Potter.”

He winked at Harry, wiggling his arse tantalisingly as he led Harry towards the sofa. _Shit_ , Harry thought, _that’s where I watched him wank_. He gripped his cock through his trousers, staving off the need to come in his pants at the thought of playing out what might have happened before. Draco flopped onto the sofa, spreading his legs out invitingly. He looked up at Harry through his lashes, playing coy.

“How do you want me?” Draco asked. Harry’s brain nearly short-circuited. This man was going to be the death of him. He welcomed it with open arms.

“Can you,” Harry started before trailing off. He swallowed, rubbing at the back of his head, embarrassed over what he wanted. Draco was looking at him knowingly, the smug bastard. Harry plucked up his courage with a deep breath. He popped open the button of his trousers. “I want you to wank and finger fuck your arse, like you did before,” he said confidently. Draco’s knowing smirk stretched into a delighted grin. He tilted his head back against the sofa, his eyes still on Harry.

“You dirty sod. I want you to kneel at my feet, and watch me,” Draco said. Harry’s gut twisted pleasantly. Harry dropped to his knees, crawling over on all fours to him. Draco made a pleased sound as Harry came close. He batted Draco’s knees wider, so he had room to see everything while he sat close. He bit his lip, sliding his palms up Draco’s thighs and over his erection, giving it a squeeze through his trousers. “Sweet Salazar, Potter,” Draco said breathlessly. He wriggled around to get his trousers off of his hips. Harry reached out to help him pull them off, casting them aside. Draco’s cock tented his pants. Harry couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward, and closed his mouth over Draco’s cloth-covered cock. Draco hummed appreciatively. His fingers ran through Harry’s hair, cupping the back of his head. Harry mouthed at it until the pants were damp, and Draco was shifting his hips to press his prick further into Harry’s mouth. “Show me. I want to see, Potter. Show me how hard you are for me.”

Harry sat back on his heels, spreading his knees wide. He pulled out his cock, pumping it once, and played with his foreskin. Draco hummed again in appreciation, his eyes falling closed.

“Look at you. You’re magnificent,” Draco said. Warmth pooled in Harry’s stomach at the words. He circled his fingers loosely around himself while Draco reached for his wand to summon his lube from the side table drawer. Harry squeezed his cock at the thought that it was still in the same place as before. He pictured Draco wanking when he wasn’t there. Draco stripped off his pants, leaving them to cling to one ankle. He spread his legs wide so Harry could see all of him. He locked eyes with Harry as he caressed his own skin teasingly. He put two fingers into his mouth, sucking them slowly and coating them with spit. “Watch me,” he said as he circled his hole, massaging it with his wet fingers. His other hand tweaked his hard nipples before sliding down to stroke his cock.

Harry matched his own strokes with Draco’s, mirroring every action. Draco caught on quickly, speeding up and slowing down until Harry was right on the edge. Draco coated his fingers with lube. Their breaths came in heavy pants as Draco worked his fingers into his hole, stretching it with each slide in and out. His eyes closed as he shifted his hips, pressing down on his own fingers with a sound of pleasure. Harry’s thighs trembled with the effort not to come, kneeling at Draco’s feet, and wanking. Draco looked like he knew exactly what he was doing to Harry with his little show. Draco teased himself open while he squeezed his cock. He moaned every time he looked down at Harry. He watched Harry fisting his cock, kneeling between his legs close enough to touch.

“I can’t — I need to touch you,” Harry said in a rush, shuffling closer on his shaking legs. He gently pulled Draco’s hand away from his arse while he reached for the lube. Harry lifted one of Draco’s legs so that it was propped up on the sofa, just like it had been when he was here before. Draco grinned at him, huffing out a laugh until Harry pressed two slick fingers in him. His laugh broke off into a choked groan. He arched his back as Harry’s fingers slid further inside his hole, searching. Harry leaned forward to place hungry kisses on any inch of skin he could reach. He teased a nipple, tracing it with his tongue until Draco was twitching. When Draco tensed and whispered _there, right there_ Harry knew he’d found the right spot. He rubbed it relentlessly until Draco was nearly screaming with pleasure, his whole body shuddering as Harry fucked him with his fingers. Harry mouthed a trail of wet kisses down Draco’s chest. He closed his mouth around Draco’s cock, licking at Draco’s fingers where they were still circled around it. Draco gasped and arched up.

“Oh shit! Yes!” Draco cried, his hips pumping, seeking more. “Shit, Potter. I need you in me — _now_! I’m not going to last,” Draco said urgently. Harry brushed his fingers against Draco’s prostate one last time, earning a strangled moan, before he pulled his fingers away. He shoved his trousers and pants down further on his thighs with one hand, while he scooped more lube up with the other. Draco watched hungrily, stroking his hard cock while Harry coated his own with lube. “Come on, get in me. Fuck me,” Draco demanded. Harry had to pause, closing his eyes tightly and squeezing the base of his cock. He felt so on edge — he knew he couldn’t possibly last long. They both groaned together in unison as Harry pressed the head of his cock into Draco’s hole. Harry watched as his length sank in deeper and deeper into the tight heat of Draco’s arse.

“God, _yes_ ,” Harry said through clenched teeth. Draco felt amazing squeezed around his cock. He could feel the muscles of his hole fluttering around Harry’s prick. “You feel so good,” Harry moaned. He hooked his hands under Draco’s thighs, and lifted. Harry pressed the long, pale legs up to Draco’s chest, holding them in a firm grip as he began to slide out. He snapped his hips forward, and pulled out slowly. He worked his thrusts increasingly into a punishing rhythm as Draco relaxed around his cock. He sped up until the sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, along with their breathy gasps. Draco cried out in pleasure as Harry’s cock brushed against his prostate. Harry adjusted his angle, and pounded against the sensitive spot until Draco was groaning continuously, repeating his name over and over again.

“Potter, Potter! Yes!” Draco cried out as he arched, working his hips to meet Harry thrust for thrust. Harry let go of Draco’s legs to curl his hand around the back of Draco’s neck. He pulled Draco forward until their eyes met.

“It’s Harry. I want you to call me Harry when I’m fucking you,” Harry demanded fiercely, with his glasses slipping down his nose. Draco nodded, unable to string words together as Harry relentlessly slammed into his arse. Harry pushed his glasses back up into place. Draco shifted to wrap his legs tightly around Harry’s waist. He fisted his own cock, reaching for Harry, and stretched up to kiss him passionately. Harry’s glasses dug into Draco’s cheek. Harry could feel his release building with each thrust.

“Harry,” Draco said into their kiss. Draco sucked on Harry’s tongue while Draco clenched down around his cock, making Harry keen desperately. “Fuck me, Harry.”

Harry gasped out a nearly inhuman sound, his thrusts speeding up even more as he curled them both into the cushions. Draco’s head fell back against the sofa as he held Harry in a tight embrace, fists curled in Harry’s shirt. His trousers were digging into his thighs as his hips snapped back and forth. There was something deliciously dirty about fucking Draco while he still had most of his clothes on — especially with Draco spread out, and naked for him on his sofa. Draco moaned Harry’s name, clenching around his prick again. Harry’s orgasm came out of nowhere and everywhere at once, nearly startling him with the intensity of it as pleasure seared through him. Harry held himself tensely, buried deep inside of Draco’s arse while his body shuddered with his release. It felt like it rippled over his skin as he emptied his cock inside of Draco, filling his hole with his come. His prick throbbed with each hot pulse.

“Oh! Draco, I’m coming! I’m coming,” Harry said with a ragged gasp. He leaned his sweaty forehead against Draco’s damp, flushed chest — not caring that his glasses were smudging and nearly falling off of his face. He panted as he tried to catch his breath. Draco’s fingers were tracing patterns on Harry’s back, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. When Harry felt nearly human again, he leaned up to smile at Draco in a daze. Draco reached out to adjust Harry’s glasses for him. Belatedly, he realised that Draco was still hard. He hadn’t come. He frowned, his hand automatically coming up to stroke Draco with a firm grip. He watched as Draco closed his eyes in pleasure, his hips working slowly down on Harry’s softening cock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you didn’t…”

Draco looked up at Harry intently, his silvery grey eyes piercing him straight through. After several beats he asked, “Do you trust me now?”

Harry wasn’t really sure if he did or not, but he didn’t want to mess up again. He knew in his heart, now, that Draco wasn’t a criminal. That was all that mattered. He nodded. Draco smiled up at him, his fingers tracing Harry’s jaw. “Good. Come on,” he said. He helped Harry pull out, grimacing as Harry’s come seeped out of his arse. Harry waved his hand without a second thought, casting a wandless Cleaning Charm that he usually used on himself when he was finished. “Thank you,” Draco said with a puzzled expression. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, his eyes darting down to Harry’s hand. Harry knew that wandless magic wasn’t very common. He didn’t like to show it off much.

Harry helped Draco to his feet, his hand skimming over Draco’s arse as he stepped out of his pants. Harry gave it a squeeze, already hungry to have him in every way he possibly could. Draco took his hand, and led him towards the steps. They stumbled upstairs, pausing so Harry could remove his trousers and pants. He nearly tripped out of his clothes, but Draco caught him easily. Draco stared into Harry’s eyes as he slowly slid his hands up under Harry’s shirt. Their eye contact was broken for only a moment when he pulled the shirt over Harry’s head. Harry leaned in for an achingly slow kiss, both of them standing naked in front of Draco’s bedroom door. When they parted, Draco pulled him into the bedroom. He didn’t turn on the lights; only the light pouring in from the hallway lit the room dimly.

Draco gently pushed Harry down onto the bed, crawling over him and hovering. He removed Harry’s glasses, and placed them on the bedside table. He made Harry lean up for another kiss. He trailed his fingertips over every inch of Harry’s skin. Draco took his time exploring Harry’s body, despite likely being more than ready to come. He made Harry feel like he was cracked open, his very soul pouring out into their commingled breaths between kisses. He felt absolutely ruined for anyone else. Draco took Harry’s half hard cock into his mouth, his tongue curling around the head and sucking.

“Ah! Christ,” Harry breathed. He inhaled sharply as Draco sucked him, teased him, until he was fully hard again. He reached down to run his fingers through Draco’s hair, guiding his head down onto Harry’s cock to take more of it. Draco caressed Harry’s balls, stroking the skin behind them. Harry’s legs spread wider to let him explore. Draco followed the path of his fingers with his tongue, licking Harry’s balls, and sucking behind them. “Oh fuck,” Harry groaned, hooking his hands behind his knees and tugged them up, putting himself on display for Draco. He could feel Draco smiling into his skin. He bit playfully at the back of Harry’s thigh. He closed his mouth over Harry’s arse without any further teasing, flicking his tongue against Harry’s rim, making Harry gasp. He licked over Harry’s hole in broad strokes, and then sucked and nibbled gently at the sensitive flesh. Harry writhed under Draco’s ministrations as he teased Harry with his tongue. When Harry couldn’t take the teasing any longer, Draco finally pressed his tongue inside with short jabs. He fucked Harry’s arse with his tongue as Harry moaned a litany of praise and curses. He strained his hips against Draco’s face, needing more of him.

Draco pulled away from Harry’s arse, with his chin shining with saliva in the dim light. His hard cock was hanging heavily against his thigh. It was the most erotic sight Harry had ever seen. He wanted to burn it into his memory. Draco swallowed Harry’s straining cock without warning while he pressed a finger into Harry’s hole. He keened as Draco slowly slid his finger in and out in time with his sucking mouth. Draco pulled away to grab lube, thoroughly coating his fingers before pressing two of them back in. He was driving Harry crazy as he slowly fingered him open. Draco found his prostate with practised ease, stroking it with relentless brushes of his fingers as he added a third finger. Harry’s whole body was shaking with need. Draco let Harry’s cock fall from his mouth, trailing kisses up his body until Draco reached his lips. Harry’s legs dropped from his grip to wrap around Draco, tugging him closer. They kissed breathlessly, passing moans back and forth between them.

Every look, every kiss, _every touch_ felt so much more intense than it should. Harry felt so much potential blooming in every way Draco caressed and explored his skin. He felt an all-consuming passion that was evidently burning through them both. Draco’s fingers crooked inside of him again, making Harry arch as pleasure shot through him.

“Please, _please_ Draco. I can’t take it anymore. Please, I need you to fuck me. Fill me up, please,” Harry begged. Draco groaned raggedly, burying his face in Harry’s neck. It took Harry a moment before he could understand Draco’s muffled words.

“I want you… Merlin, I want you so much, Harry,” Draco was repeating into his skin over and over. Harry shivered as he wrapped his arms around Draco.

“Please,” he said again. Draco nodded wordlessly, pulling his fingers out of Harry’s hole. Harry felt empty. He was desperate for Draco to fill him up.

“I’ve got you, Potter,” he murmured quietly. Harry pulled Draco towards him by the back of his neck, until their foreheads were pressed together.

“ _Harry_ ,” he corrected firmly. Draco nodded again, swooping down for a kiss. He blindly felt around for the lube. Harry batted his hand away to coat Draco’s cock in the slick oil, squeezing and stroking it. Draco moaned eagerly against his ear, lining his cock up against Harry’s entrance. He pushed in with a slow, controlled thrust that left Harry hungry for more. Draco kept a steady pace, easing his cock in and out of Harry’s arse. He thrust his prick all the way in, and stayed there, buried inside Harry for several heartbeats. Harry rolled them over, leaning down to cut off Draco’s protest with a kiss. He lifted his hips, and slammed himself back down. They both groaned together appreciatively as Harry rode Draco’s cock.

“Ahh — yeah, ride me,” Draco said. His hands slid up Harry’s thighs to grip his hips, guiding Harry up and down. “You look so good like that.”

Harry felt like he couldn’t even catch his breath. He felt every inch of Draco’s cock as he slammed down on it again and again. Harry leaned over to kiss Draco again, whispering _I’m sorry_ and _believe me_ repeatedly between kisses. Draco nodded frantically as Harry sank down on his cock. He trailed his kisses across Draco’s sweaty skin as they moved together, breathing his apology over and over. Draco wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, rolling them over again. He didn’t miss a beat, hiking one of Harry’s legs up high on his waist as he thrust hard into Harry’s arse.

“I want you,” Draco said again with an intense look. He held Harry tightly as he fucked his arse with deep, hard thrusts.

“You’ve got me,” Harry choked out as Draco hit his prostate again and again. Harry held out his hand, and Draco threaded their fingers together, pinning Harry’s hand to the bed. With his other hand he squeezed Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts as they sped up. Heat was building in Harry’s body as his breath came in harsh pants. “I’m going to come again.”

“Yes, do it,” Draco said in a deep, husky voice. His irises were blown wide with desire as he stared hungrily down at Harry, fisting his cock. Draco bit his lip as his hips began to stutter out of control. His hand was flying over Harry’s prick. “Come for me, Harry,” he said desperately as he shuddered above him. Harry could feel Draco’s cock throbbing inside of him as he began to come. Draco cried out, squeezing Harry’s hand tightly as his body trembled. He continued thrusting through his orgasm, stroking Harry’s cock until Harry’s release hit him, too, in a blissful wave of pleasure.

“Fu— _fuck_!” Draco’s face was open, beautiful, while he quivered through his climax. Harry knew in that moment — watching Draco come — that he couldn’t possibly want anything or anyone else in the world ever again. They held each other close, kissing passionately as the last shocks of their orgasms shot through them.

*******

Draco flopped back against the pillows, more sated than he had ever felt after a fuck. His arse twinged pleasantly, and his thighs twitched from exertion. Both of their breaths were coming in heavy pants as their hands skimmed over each other’s skin. Potter waved his hand lazily, and Draco felt the tingle of the Cleaning Charm washing over him. Draco didn’t know exactly how to feel. He wasn’t exactly ready to fully forgive Potter. He did believe that Potter was sorry. Draco wasn’t sure if he could trust Potter not to hurt him again, though, no matter how earnest he was in his apology — or how intense the sex was. He wanted to get up, leave, and close himself off again. Wasn’t that precisely why he had pushed Potter away and ignored his apologies in the first place? He had to protect himself.

Draco felt exposed and raw, but Potter was looking at him — so open and attentive, even more so without his glasses on. It made him stay where he was. Potter traced his fingers gently over his glistening skin, over his chest and down his left arm. Draco was grateful for the dim light. Everything felt easier in the near-darkness of the room. Before he could stop himself, words started tumbling out of his mouth without his conscious permission.

“It was upsetting, not knowing what would happen to my parents after the war ended,” he started. Potter turned his rapt attention back on him. His green eyes were so piercing that Draco almost wanted to turn away and shield himself from them. He picked up Draco’s hand, stroking each finger carefully, before pressing a kiss to each of his fingertips. “The first thing the Aurors did was arrest anyone who had any connection to the other side, so it wasn’t a surprise when they came to the Manor. They took all of us. Separated me from my parents. I remember being so worried about my mother. She’s strong, but the way the Aurors looked at her… it was awful. You certainly weren’t the first to treat me like that.”

He trailed off for a moment, attempting to breathe through the sick roiling in his stomach over the painful memories. There was a tense silence. He glared at Potter for a moment. Potter continued to stroke the back of his hand gently, silently listening with a small frown. Draco grimaced and went on.

“They didn’t have the same procedures that are in place today,” he said, his teeth clenching. “And even if they did have something, no one was there to keep them in check. No one believed me, even when it was bad enough that I had to be taken to St Mungo’s during my trial. They just signed off on it, dusted it under the rug. When I received my sentence, I wasn’t sure whether it was a relief or a curse to be pardoned. I was free, along with my mother, but my father was sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss.” Draco paused to take a shaky breath. Harry’s fingers intertwined with his. He stared down at their joined hands, unsure whether he appreciated it or wanted to rip his hand away. It was one thing to hold his hand when they fucked, but this felt like something different — something more important. Potter hadn’t been there to save him that time. He looked up at Potter, and his heart clenched. Potter looked wretchedly sorry, his sad eyes boring into Draco’s. He leaned forward, carefully wrapping his arms around Draco.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured into his skin for perhaps the thousandth time that night. He continued repeating the apology over and over, pressing kisses to whatever skin he could reach. Draco’s heart swelled, almost painfully, and his breath caught around a lump in his throat. He wasn’t used to being someone’s sole focus in such a way, and being at the centre of Harry Potter’s attention felt like it could drown him if he wasn’t careful. Draco swallowed thickly, his throat clicking. He took another quivering breath before continuing.

“My father was imprisoned in Azkaban while he awaited the Kiss. My mother was a mess at the Manor. I eventually had to get her out of there, she was cycling between a manic and depressive state. She had nightmares every night. I’m sure we all did,” he said, his voice strained. Potter squeezed him tighter. “It’s gotten worse, even though I took her somewhere else to live. She’s not — that’s why I wanted to work on the Exaltation Elixir. I’ve been able to experiment on existing potions before. She’s gone quite mad. I have her in a private ward in St Mungo’s, but nothing seems to do her any good. I just wanted to find something that would help her get better.”

Harry shot him another deeply apologetic look. He thought for a moment on how to go on.

“My father had a last wish for me. They let me see him one last time before he received the Kiss. He asked me to uphold the family name, so I decided to find respectable work in the Ministry while still working on something I enjoyed. That’s why I ended up working as a Potions Analyst — I like solving puzzles,” he said with a faint smile. Harry’s lips twitched into a tentative smile in return. He buried his face in Draco’s neck, murmuring unintelligibly while Draco continued to speak. “I just thought that if I couldn’t solve the case, that I would at least be able to fix what was wrong with Exaltation Elixir. People do need help, there are so many of us with wounds that refuse to scar over. The Muggles have all kinds of therapy for their soldiers, and people who have been through trauma,” he said. He wondered for a moment if, with Harry on his side, he might be able to get the Ministry to develop some proper help for those who still suffered. He lost himself in his thoughts.

There was a lull filled by Potter murmuring more unintelligible words into the skin under his ear while he held Draco in his arms. Draco felt overwhelmed with emotions that he didn’t understand, each of them warring for dominance in his head and in his heart. Finally, Potter lifted his head to turn a brilliant smile on him. He leaned in to kiss Draco slowly. It made Draco’s toes curl. He pulled away, tracing the bridge of Draco’s nose with one finger. For a moment he looked uncertain, but determination won out — as it always seemed to with him.

“What happens when we go back out into the world? Into work?” Potter asked.

Draco tensed, not quite ready to leave the safe bubble of his bedroom, curled up with Potter. They hadn’t exactly decided to start a relationship before their clothes started coming off, but the pull to be together was strong. He debated his answer for a long moment, absently running his fingers through Potter’s thick mess of hair. “We’ll take it one step at a time,” he said diplomatically. He wasn’t ready to make all or nothing decisions with Potter yet. He wasn’t one for grand declarations. “We should keep it quiet while we learn more about each other, I think. I don’t want our colleagues to influence or mess up whatever this might be between us.”

“Alright, that makes sense, I suppose,” Potter said. Draco leaned over and kissed him. Potter was smiling when he pulled away.

“You know we’re both more than likely to mess this up on our own. Especially with our track record so far,” Draco admitted.

“We’ll work through it,” Potter protested earnestly. He looked so sincere that Draco bit his lip, his heart thudding in his chest. If he wasn’t careful he just might fall for Harry.

“I’m not easy, you know,” Draco said. Harry smirked, and it was such a good impression of Draco’s. The prat had no right looking that attractive while pulling one of Draco’s signature expressions.

“I know. I’m not easy, either,” he said. Draco raised an eyebrow at him. Potter looked down at his lap sheepishly. He scrubbed his hand on the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “I know I can be brash —” Draco snorted, “— but I want to try,” Potter said. _So do I, Harry_ , Draco thought. He offered a smile that Potter returned ten fold. Draco had no idea that when Potter had been paying attention to him before that it was only the tip of the iceberg. “Do you want to go out for tea? I want to take you to the Muggle shop you like, so I can hold your hand and kiss you.”

“Sappy prat,” Draco said with a playful shove to Potter’s shoulder. He was grinning so wide that his cheeks hurt a little, but he couldn’t scrape up the effort to conceal his emotions. Not when his heart felt like it was forcibly growing three sizes. “What, now?”

Potter nodded eagerly. Draco leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow. Potter rolled from the bed, putting his glasses back on. He began hunting around for his articles of clothing that were flung about the townhouse. Draco lingered in bed for a moment longer, enjoying the view of Potter’s arse.

“Up!” Potter tossed one of Draco’s discarded shirts at him from where it was draped across a chair in the corner. He caught it and stood, opening his wardrobe. He was distracted from selecting an outfit when Potter crowded him from behind, his arms wrapping around Draco’s waist. “Look at that, you have a Hawaiian shirt!”

“That was a gag gift from Blaise and Pansy!” Draco sputtered, slamming his wardrobe closed.

Potter gripped him in a tight embrace, and lifted him enthusiastically off the ground, his warm, full laughter filling the room. “I bet you’re lying! I want to see you in that — just that,” Potter said with a playful growl into his ear. Draco felt a stirring of interest at the way Potter’s rough voice tickled his ear.

“Put me down! I thought you wanted to take me out for tea, like the soppy romantic you probably are!” Draco kicked his legs, squirming until he was back on solid ground. He sternly pushed Potter away from him. “Go find the rest of your clothes.”

Potter — _Harry_ , he reminded himself — trailed out of the room obediently. Draco returned to his wardrobe and selected his favourite jumper, laying it out on the bed. After an indecisive moment he let his impulsive instinct win out, darting his hand out to snatch up his Muggle designer jeans. He tugged them on and was just buttoning them when Harry came back into the room, fully dressed again. He was knocked over onto the bed unexpectedly when Harry tackled him, his startled _oof_ muffled by the blankets. Harry immediately started nuzzling into Draco’s bare neck.

“Potter, what the hell?” Draco asked, squirming under the full weight of him.

“Holy fuck, do you have any idea how sexy you look with just jeans on?” Harry’s voice had that rough edge to it again, his breath tickling Draco’s ear. Draco could feel that Harry was half hard when he pressed against the back of Draco’s thigh. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

“Potter, you insatiable slag,” Draco scolded with a laugh. If they stayed like that any longer, with Harry rutting against him like a teenager, then things were going to heat up quickly. He jerked and managed to roll Harry’s solid form off of him. He stood in a huff, meticulously combing his hair back into place. He pointedly looked at Harry before pulling his jumper on. Harry was lounging across his bed looking tempting, with his head propped up on his arm while he watched Draco. He stood in one languid motion, stepping up to Draco slowly. He brought his hands up to frame Draco’s face, looking into his eyes before pressing their lips together in an aching kiss that Draco felt down to his toes. He made a small sound of protest when Harry pulled away, smiling at him.

“Read to go?” Harry’s lips were shiny and plump from the kiss. Draco just wanted to toss him back on the bed, tie him up, and never let him leave ever again. He took a steadying breath, holding his hand out for Harry’s.

“Yes, let’s go for tea. I expect lots of romance, I’ll have you know,” Draco said imperiously. “You’ve got a lot to make up for — you should probably start straight away.”

“Of course,” Harry laughed as he led them back downstairs. They pulled on their coats, interrupting each other with quick kisses, and finally made it out the door.

Harry paused on Draco’s front step, looking at him intently. Draco wanted to hold on to this moment, lock it away in his heart. With Harry Potter’s hand in his it felt like they could take on the world together, one step at a time.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/68813.html) . ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised @ livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 9th.


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